


Harry and the Hawthornes

by PettyMindedSneak



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Continuation, F/M, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon, neat stuff, wizard schools, you'll like it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-11-03 07:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 76,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10962963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PettyMindedSneak/pseuds/PettyMindedSneak
Summary: Harry and co. thought they had a pretty good understanding of the wizarding world after facing down Voldemort. They forgot that the world is quite a bit bigger than the UK, though, and that Voldemort's legacy had traveled pretty far. Right across the Atlantic Ocean, in fact, and to a bizarre wizarding academy. Luckily, Harry finds out just in time for things to start turning strange again.





	1. Phoenix Fire

       Though history may have recorded it this way, the death of Lord Voldemort did not end all the trying times in the wizarding world. To be sure, Voldemort’s death was a turning point, but darkness is not always as obvious or as flamboyant as the late Dark Lord. Often, darkness is patient and careful and cunning. In the uproar after the successful defeat of Voldemort and the end of the terror that had been hanging over the heads of wizards and witches for so many years, darkness took its chance to go into hiding.

       While all known Death Eaters were found and tried for their crimes, unmarked supporters of Voldemort and quiet sympathizers everywhere went unnoticed; they were able to flit among the masses and take part in the revelry without being found out. Many such supporters were able to find work in the newly reclaimed ministry. Kingsley Shacklebolt had to take on the role of acting Minister until an organized election could be held. Though he had spent many years in faithful service to the Ministry of Magic, Shacklebolt now found himself in a completely foreign environment; nothing was as it had been. He had to start from scratch.

       One of his first declarations as Minister was to offer anyone that had participated in the Battle of Hogwarts a position at the ministry as an auror. This decree elicited a number of raised eyebrows, as most of the magical community was hoping to see an increase in the quality of aurors to prevent a repeat catastrophe. Regardless of these murmurs, those that had actually _been _in the battle understood that the offer was more symbolic than anything else. Still, there were some that were itching to take him up on it.__

       It wasn’t just the ministry that underwent massive changes. The entire wizarding world was in a state of recovery: Diagon Alley’s shops removed the boards from their windows, Azkaban’s walls were repaired, and destroyed houses everywhere were being rebuilt. The fastest of any organization to recover were the gossip magazines. Witch Weekly and Spella Weekly were competing to publish the most lucrative, juicy, heart-wrenching story they could think up. Fortunately, they had an abundance of topics to work off of. Unfortunately, they only seemed to write about one: Harry Potter.

       If you followed their stories, you would know that Harry Potter was dead, vacationing in the Bahamas, living at Hogwarts, a hermit in a cave, stranded in the ocean, and dead again. He was also married to Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, courting the seeker of the Appleby Arrows, becoming a priest and swearing celibacy, and had sculpted a statue of a woman, fallen in love with it, and had it magically come to life in a series of events bearing strange similarities to a Greek myth. After the Battle of Hogwarts and the successful defeat of Lord Voldemort, Harry was spending his time crying over his experiences, helping his former Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart, to recover his lost memory, training dragons for a circus (in the Bahamas), and keeping himself meticulously and obsessively clean. He had also gotten a gigantic tattoo of either a leopard or a salmon on his back.

       If you actually knew Harry at all, you would know that he’d yet to speak to any correspondents from either Witch Weekly or Spella Weekly. In fact, he was just as surprised as anyone to learn all of the amazing things he’d been doing lately. In reality, after the Battle of Hogwarts and the successful defeat of Lord Voldemort, Harry had returned with the Dursleys to their home at Number 4, Privet Drive and was waiting for word from his friends, much as he had in summers past.

       Ron, and indeed all of the Weasleys, were taking time to mourn Fred. Harry had been invited to and had attended the funeral; it had been the last time he’d seen his two closest friends that summer. The Weasleys, as well as Harry and Hermione—the honorary Weasleys—had been profoundly affected by the loss. Soon enough though, George reopened the joke shop with Percy at his side. The two actually made very good business partners and, in honor of Fred’s death and the general instability of the wizarding world, they dropped the prices of everything in their shop to mere knuts and often tossed out toys from their pockets when they were walking around town. This, if nothing else, served to make the store more popular than ever and even with the dirt cheap prices they were seeing profit.

       While the two brothers continued the store, the rest of the Weasleys set out with Hermione to relocate her parents and restore their memories. This took longer than they expected and they were gone nearly all summer. They kept in touch through letters, though they were few and far between. Harry, though, was keeping busy.

       He would have been in Australia with his friends if not for the fact that his cousin, Dudley, had asked him to stay just one more summer at the house in Little Wingeing. They had developed an awkward sort of friendship over the last few months and were finally starting to see eye to eye. This comradeship meant that Vernon and Petunia couldn’t bully Harry without incurring the wrath of their son, though neither Vernon nor Petunia felt particularly keen on bullying him anyway. They had both come to accept the fact that Harry was a man and that he had saved their lives (though they were not one hundred percent clear on _how_ ). They were grateful to him—truly they were—they just didn’t know how to show it. They didn’t really know how to _interact_ with him now that he was not a lesser being. Mostly, they treated him as if he were a boarder at the house, and that made things easier for everyone. At least until the arrival of a purple haired baby.

       Ted and Andromeda Tonks had brought their grandchild, and Harry’s godson, over for a visit. Petunia was adamant in her refusal to keep such an oddity around. Harry demanded to be able to see Teddy; Dudley, though very wary of the little boy, backed up Harry’s request. Vernon and Petunia caved and Teddy then spent every other weekend on Privet Drive.

       The Tonks’ were a bit apprehensive to allow the Dursleys to handle their grandson, but they—along with Harry—were pleasantly surprised to find that Harry’s relatives were actually very good with the baby. It also didn’t hurt that having the little boy around the house kept them from remembering that they weren’t that fond of one another. Together, the four of them managed to give Teddy a caring and fairly happy home for the weekends. All in all, living on Privet Drive for Harry was uncomfortable and generally awkward, but it was vastly improved from the way it had been before.

       On one particular day, toward the end of June, Harry and Dudley were sitting in the living room together watching television.

       “Diddykins!” Aunt Petunia trilled, coming into the room with a tray of sandwiches. “I have snacks for you!” She hesitated in the door way when she saw Harry; he gave her a small smile and she let out a relieved exhale. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, setting the tray on the coffee table. “I forgot you were in here as well. There’s plenty of sandwiches though—“

        
“Thank you,” Harry said, allowing his aunt to stop talking. She gave an awkward sort of bow and scurried from the room.

       “What’s got her on edge?” Dudley asked from the sofa. Harry was about to reply when there was a shriek from the kitchen. Harry was on his feet with his wand at the ready, sprinting down the hall before Dudley had even managed to sit up.

       “What’s wrong?” he called with half a sandwich in his mouth. Harry didn’t reply, but burst through the door to see his aunt at the sink before an open window, clutching her chest.

       “Are you alright?” Harry asked.

       “I’m fine,” Petunia squeaked, glancing at his wand. “P-please put that away.”

       “Why did you yell?”

       Aunt Petunia lifted the hand that was not pressed to her collar bone and offered Harry an envelope. That was when Harry noticed the barn owl perched on the refrigerator. “You got a letter,” she said weakly. “That owl just threw it at me.”

       “Oh, sorry,” Harry laughed, stowing his wand and walking across the room. “They’ll do that sometimes.”

       “Evidently.”

       Harry took the note and held an arm up to the bird, which climbed aboard and scuttled to his shoulder. Then Dudley came through the door.

       “What’s wrong?” He repeated.

       “The post man scared your mum,” Harry smiled. Petunia pursed her lips at the joke, but nodded.

       “Oh. Cool.” Dudley had admitted to Harry that a number of things about his world fascinated him, not least of all the use of post owls. He came over to stroke the bird while Harry opened his letter. It was from Hermione.

       “They’re back,” he said happily, reading through the note. “They found Hermione’s parents and brought them back, just like they’d planned.”

       “Who is that?” Dudley asked. “Who is Hermi…Herm…who is she?”

       “The brown girl with the big hair,” Harry replied. Hermione had stopped by the house very early in summer to help Harry move in. Vernon was quite pleased to hear her father was a dentist and not a wizard. Dudley had thought she was pretty.

       “Oh, her,” he said, blushing just a little. “She’s well then?”

       “She’s with the Weasleys—the red haired family—and they want me to come visit. Would that be alright, Aunt Petunia?”

       “When would you go?”

       “I would probably leave today or tomorrow. They’d like me to stay for a week.”

       “I’ve already got a ham in the oven for dinner.”

       “Could I leave tomorrow then?”

       Petunia looked just the tiniest bit sad.

       “You’re going to leave tomorrow?” Dudley asked. “But isn’t Teddy is supposed to come this weekend?” Harry understood Petunia’s expression; she quite enjoyed having the baby to dote on.

       “I’ll be sure to tell the Tonks’ I’ll be away,” he said. “Aunt Petunia?”

       “Well, you’re a grown man,” she sniffed. “If you want to go, then go.”

       “Thank you,” Harry smiled. Had Petunia said no, he probably would have told _her_ that he was a grown man and could go if he wanted to. But, as it was, he figured that asking permission was only polite, as he _was_ still living in the house. He took his letter and the owl up to his room to find a piece of parchment to send a reply on. He yanked one out of his old school trunk, scribbled an answer, and handed it to the owl. It then hopped off of his shoulder and tapped on the glass of his window. He opened it and the great, brown bird flew off, presumably back to the Weasley’s house. Watching it go made Harry miss his snowy owl, the late Hedwig. He’d yet to get another one to replace her.

       As Harry stared out the window after the owl—unsure of whether it belonged to Hermiones or if the Weasley’s old post owl, Errol, had finally died and they’d gotten a new one—he saw his Uncle’s car pull into the driveway. He checked the clock on his night stand. It read precisely 5:15pm, the time at which Vernon Dursley _always_ pulled into the driveway. Harry marveled at this bizarre punctuality, wondering how his uncle managed it every day without using magic.

       As Harry went back down stairs, he peeked into the kitchen to see Aunt Petunia setting the table while Dudley sniffed at the ham she’d pulled from the oven.

       “What else are we having?” He heard his cousin ask.

       “I’ve got a lovely salad all made in the refrigerator,” Petunia replied happily. Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on Dudley’s face.

       “What’s so funny, boy?” Vernon demanded, coming in the door.

       “We’re having salad for dinner,” Harry replied. “I, for one, can’t wait.” Vernon tossed his coat and hat onto the rack and ran into the kitchen, ready to protest his wife’s choice in side dish. In the end, they all tucked in to a meal of ham with roast potatoes and a salad of greens, tomatoes, and cheese. Vernon and Dudley had been placated with the promise of a large pudding for dessert. When they each took their first bites, it was precisely 5:30.

       “So,” Vernon asked, swallowing a mouthful of lettuce and looking as if it were poison. “How was your day, Petunia?”

       “Oh, just lovely,” Petunia smiled. “Mrs. Harbis, down the street, came up to tell me all of her begonias have died. Serves her right, I think, for not taking my advice on how to prune them.”

       “Too right, too right,” Vernon nodded. “You are clearly the superior gardener between the two of you. You’d think it would be common sense to take _your_ advice.”

       “Thank you, darling,” Petunia blushed. “How was your day?”

       “Excellent. Sold nine whole shipments of drill bits today,” he said proudly. “What about you, Dudley m’boy? How was your day?”

       “I got to pet an owl,” Dudley replied. Vernon’s expression tightened. He did not particularly like his son’s fascination with the birds.

       “Harry’s going away this weekend,” Petunia said, in an effort to diffuse the tension. “He’ll be gone for a week visiting some…friends.”

       “Really?” Vernon asked, brightening quite a bit. “Well, that’s just wonderful. Feel free to take two or three weeks, if you’d like.”

       “Thank you, Uncle Vernon,” Harry said, smiling down at his plate. Things had improved at the Dursley household, but not _everything_ had changed. Vernon seemed exceptionally pleased at the thought of having his abnormal nephew gone for a few days, but his good humor didn’t last terribly long because, suddenly, there was a burst of orange flame right in the center of the table.

       “Good lord!” Vernon shouted, tipping backward out of his chair. Petunia leapt up to help him and Harry realized he was the only one still at the table, as Dudley had darted underneath it to hide.

       “What is the meaning of this, boy?” Vernon demanded, struggling to right himself.

       “I didn’t do it,” Harry said honestly. He looked back at where the flames had appeared and there, in the same space where Petunia’s centerpiece had been, sat a large, proud bird with red feathers, a gold tail, and black eyes. It peered curiously at Harry.

       “Fawkes,” he breathed. The bird cocked its head.

       “W-what is it?” Petunia asked, now hiding behind her husband.

       “It’s a phoenix,” Harry explained. “I…I think it might be Dumbledore’s old pet.”

       “Dumbledore?” Vernon snorted. “Isn’t he dead?” Harry had long since learned not to take his Uncle’s insensitivity personally, and ignored the crudeness of this statement.

       “Yes, he is, and we all thought Fawkes had left for good.” Again, as Harry said the name ‘Fawkes,’ the bird moved its head, as if asking a question. This struck Harry as odd, because he had never known him to do that before.

       “Are you sure it’s the same one?” Dudley asked, peeking over the table’s edge. “It doesn’t seem to know its name.”

       “Fawkes,” Harry said again. The bird actually shook its head. “You’re _not_ Fawkes?” The phoenix ruffled its feathers approvingly.

       “Well if it’s not Dumbledore’s, then whose bloody bird is it?” Vernon demanded.

       “I don’t know,” Harry laughed. “It’s not mine. I don’t think I know anyone else that has one. They don’t usually like people.”

       “Well get it off the dinner table at least!” Petunia squeaked. The bird’s tail was resting across her plate. Harry was unsure of how to move it; he didn’t know if one could simply pick up a phoenix. He thought he might try though and, as he put out his hands, the bird lifted a foot. Harry pulled his hands back and the bird blinked.

       “Hold your arm out,” Dudley instructed.

       “What?”

       “Hold your—here, I’ll show you.” He stood up and stuck out his own massive forearm. The phoenix stuck its foot out again, grabbing hold and climbing on. Dudley lifted it off the table and moved it to the back of Harry’s empty chair.

       “Well done, Diddykins!” Petunia praised. “Very brave!”

       Sitting on the chair as it was, Harry could see that something was tied to the bird’s ankle. He leaned down to investigate and the bird bowed its head, nibbling at the cord.

       “I’ll untie it,” Harry said, for some reason feeling that he ought to speak to the bird. It lifted its head and allowed Harry to undo the knot. The cord had fastened a thin tube to the phoenix’s leg and, when he opened it, Harry found a letter inside.

       “They’re sending mail by _phoenix_ now?” Vernon grunted. “As if the bloody owls weren’t conspicuous enough!”

       Harry unrolled the note and was surprised to find the neat, measured handwriting of Professor McGonagall. The letter read:

_Potter,_

       _As you may have guessed would be the case, I have taken over the post of Headmistress at Hogwarts. My first official task is proving much more problematic than I’d expected. I would appreciate your presence here, at Hogwarts, tomorrow morning at nine thirty sharp for a bit of advice on a decision. Bring the other two._

 _Cordially,_  
_Professor M. McGonagall, Headmistress_

       “I have to go to Hogwarts tomorrow,” Harry announced. “McGonagall wants me.”

       “Brilliant. Is this _her_ bird?”

       “I don’t…know,” Harry replied. “I, er, I’m not sure. I don’t think it is.”

       “Why isn’t it leaving?” Petunia asked. “They always leave once you take their letters.”

       “I mean, sometimes they want a reply, but the letter didn’t ask for one,” Harry said, reading it again. “I don’t know why it’s staying.”

       “Shoo, birdy!” Vernon said, flapping his hands at it. “Go on! He took your note, now go! Fly home!”

       “Phoenixes teleport,” Harry said automatically. “I mean, they _can_. That’s how it got here.”

       “Well then bloody teleport away!” Vernon shouted, now feeling brave enough to get close to the animal. “Go back to your own house!” The phoenix made no move to leave its perch on Harry’s chair. It simply peered at Vernon, almost as if it were amused by him.

       “Why—ah, why don’t you all just finish dinner?” Harry suggested. “I’ll take it up stairs and try to figure out what it wants.” Harry put his arm out and the bird climbed on, walking up to his shoulder just as the barn owl had done. He left the room, carefully making his way to the stairs. He could feel the bird’s tail brushing his calves.

       “You’ve got a very long tail,” Harry said quietly, grabbing on to the bannister. “And you’re heavier than I expected.” That was very true; the bird was roughly the size of a fully grown peacock, it had a good amount more heft to it than an owl.

       “You’re not Fawkes, though?” Harry asked, opening his bedroom door. The bird waggled its head again. “Do you know Fawkes?” The bird did not respond, but Harry hadn’t really expected it to. One can’t expect every phoenix to know all the others. He leaned down to let the bird perch on his desk chair, but it didn’t move. It seemed quite happy to keep riding his shoulder.

       “You know, now that I think about it,” Harry said. “You’re too small to be Fawkes.” The bird nipped at his ear and leapt messily onto his desk, clearly offended.

       “I’m sorry,” Harry apologized, rubbing his ear. “I didn’t mean to say that I think you’re _small_ ; I just think Fawkes was _bigger_.” The bird looked at him carefully, but withheld its forgiveness. “Why are you even still here?” Harry asked. The bird looked out the window. He went to it and pulled it open. The bird continued to simply gaze, though it did seem curious about the noise coming from the neighbor’s lawn mower.

       “Are you ever going to leave?”

       The bird settled down on the desk, getting comfortable.

       “Are you mine then?”

       It turned its head very quickly to glare at him; Harry took this as a no.

       “Fine,” he huffed. “I don’t think I’d want you anyway; you’re very rude.” He and the bird glared at one another for a long time before his legs started to get tired. “If I leave you here, will you tear up my room?”

       The phoenix ruffled its feathers and let out a whoosh of air; Harry imagined it saying in a very posh voice, “I would _never_!” He sighed, shut the window, and went to his door.

       “Stay here, okay?” He instructed. The bird simply stared at him, but he figured if it really wanted to follow him, it would, so he shut the door and went back down to dinner.

       “Is it gone then?” Vernon asked when he came into the kitchen.

       “No,” Harry admitted. “But it’s going to stay in my room. I’ll take it with me tomorrow if it’s still here by then.”

       “You certainly will! I won’t have bizarre creatures just lounging ‘round my house!”

       “Did you find out its name?” Dudley asked.

       “No; it can’t talk.”

       “I would call it Ruby.”

       “I’m pretty sure it’s a boy.”

       “Ruby could be a boy’s name,” Petunia said instantly. “And it’s a very good name, Diddy Dums.” Harry rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything. Once the meal was finished, Harry decided to skip the pudding and went up to his room to pack. The phoenix had its head tucked under its wing when he came in and it didn’t move, even as he thumped around and threw things into his trunk. He couldn’t help but wonder about whom this bird belonged to.

       Clearly, it wasn’t wild. He didn’t think you could convince a wild phoenix to carry mail, especially not to a muggle household. He figured it _might_ be professor McGonagall’s, but he had some pretty serious doubts. She’d never seemed overly fond of animals and Harry associated a great deal of adventure with the acquisition of a phoenix; though he didn’t doubt McGonagall’s _ability_ to have such adventures, he doubted her interest. But if it wasn’t hers, then whose was it? Hagrid’s?

       Hagrid was _certainly_ the type of person who would be interested in finding a phoenix and keeping it for a pet. But all of Harry’s school books had said phoenixes were very clever and very picky about the wizards they interacted with. Harry would never say it out loud—not wanting to do his friend a disservice—but Hagrid just didn’t seem to be this bird’s type. Most likely, it belonged to someone Harry didn’t know. Maybe it was the companion of the new defense against the dark arts professor, or perhaps it had something to do with whatever was troubling McGonagall.

       This thought made Harry pull the note out again to read it over. What decision could she need to make that would require his advice? He climbed into bed, mulling it over, but he wasn’t coming up with any ideas. He fell asleep still thinking, staring at the phoenix on his desk until his eyes fell shut.


	2. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Ron, and Hermione return to Hogwarts to meet an interesting woman with an unbelievable story.

      Harry awoke, face down on his pillow, to a tapping noise. He propped himself on his elbows and found his glasses still on his face, crushed and bent under the weight of his head. He fumbled for his wand and tapped them with its tip, mumbling _reparo_. Almost instantly, he found he had a headache, though his glasses were indeed fixed. He looked at the clock on his night stand. It read 8:45 a.m. On the floor beside his bed was McGonagall’s note. _Nine thirty sharp_ …

      Harry grabbed the note, leapt up, and ran to his door. He was just about to yank it open when he heard the tapping again. He turned and saw that the barn owl was back. It was sitting on his window sill, clicking its beak against the glass. The phoenix—who had indeed stayed the night—was staring at Harry, as if it did not appreciate being woken in such a manner. Harry went to the window and pulled it open, allowing the owl to hop down on to his desk. It dropped a letter and a pouch, cooed at the phoenix, and flew off again. Harry picked up the envelope and tore it open. This time, the letter was in Ron’s hand writing.

_Harry,_

       _Dad’s had the ministry open a temporary floo network connection at your house again. It’ll be open all day. See you soon._

_Ron_

       “Wicked,” Harry smiled, picking up the little pouch the bird had left. It was full of black powder. He felt a tug on the letter and found the phoenix nibbling on the corner.

       “Oy,” he grunted, swatting at the great, red bird. “Leave it alone!” The bird ruffled its feathers and stood up. It extended its wings and Harry backed away, assuming it was about to fly out of his open window. Instead, it simply stretched, yawned, and looked back at him expectantly.

       “Right then,” he sighed, stuffing Ron’s note and the one from McGonagall in his pocket. “I’ve got less than an hour before I have to get to Hogwarts. Try not to muck about while I get ready.” The bird blinked and Harry rolled his eyes. He turned to leave again and this time, as he set his hand on the door knob, there was a whoosh of air and he felt the phoenix land on his shoulder.

       “Coming with this time?” He asked, looking over at it. It just yawned again and Harry went out into the hall. He trumped down the stairs, not taking nearly as much care as he had the last time the bird rode on his shoulder. He was still a bit bitter about being bitten on the ear. He walked into the kitchen to find Aunt Petunia busily frying eggs.

       “Good morning,” he said, getting her attention. She turned to look at him and scowled when she saw the bird.

       “Couldn’t you leave that thing in your room?” Vernon asked from the table.

       “It won’t get off,” Harry replied. “I just came down to tell you that I’ll be leaving through the fireplace in a bit.”

       “Just don’t make a mess,” Petunia sniffed, turning back to her frying pan. Harry sighed and went back up to his room. He knew that his aunt and uncle’s responses were more cordial than anything he might have ever hoped for as a child, but still, he found himself wishing they might have said something like, “Have a nice time.”

      He threw his knapsack over his shoulder and began lugging his trunk down to the living room. All the while, the phoenix kept a firm hold on his shoulder, watching him struggle. When he had finally made it to the fire place, Harry’s aunt and uncle were waiting there wearing matching disapproving looks.

       “Try not to make so much racket when you come back,” Vernon huffed. “You might have woken Dudley.”

       “Right,” Harry nodded. “Sorry.” He pulled the grate away from the fireplace and threw down a handful of powder, shouting, “The Burrow!” Green flames erupted in the little opening and it was then that Harry remembered he had to enlarge the opening.

       “Bugger,” he muttered, trying to figure out what to do. If it were bigger, he could walk right in with the bird and his trunk without a problem. As it was, he couldn’t fit everything in one go. Not wanting to look foolish in front of the Dursleys, he did his best to seem like he knew what he was doing. He dragged his trunk over and shoved it into the flames. It vanished and then he was left to figure out what to do with the bird. As it was, he was going to need to crawl into the opening, so the bird could not stay in its current position. He wished he could tell the bird to apparate itself there, but he didn’t figure it would listen. Instead, he carefully put a hand on either side of its body and lifted it off his shoulder. The bird allowed this to happen and he tucked it under his arm, holding it much as one might do a quaffle. The problem was, the bird was much larger than a quaffle and Harry realized he probably couldn’t crawl with it. At the very least, he couldn’t crawl without pulling on its tail, which was now dragging on the floor. The bird was staring up at him, waiting for him to make a decision. In the end, he simply flung the bird into the fireplace and it disappeared with an angry squawk. He looked over at his relatives.

       “Er, goodbye then,” he said. They stared at him and he got down onto his hands and knees and crawled into the flames. It is at this point one should note that it is inadvisable to travel head first into the floo network. Harry learned this the hard way as he tumbled through space, cracking both elbows and a knee on different openings as he went. Finally, though, he was jettisoned out the proper fireplace and went flying into the Burrow’s kitchen. It was not the peaceful scene he was expecting though; instead, it was absolute chaos.

      Everyone was crouched down and shouting as a red blur zoomed about overhead. It was the phoenix and as soon as it caught sight of Harry, it dove at him, beating his head with its wings.

       “Argh!” Harry shouted, throwing up his arms to protect himself. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t know what else to do! Now get off me!” The bird whirled away to perch on a rafter, preening its feathers indignantly. Harry, sufficiently ruffled and bruised, looked around the room. Everyone stared at him for a moment before they all burst out laughing.

       “What the bloody hell was that?” Ron asked, hauling his friend to his feet.

       “Er, it’s a phoenix,” Harry smiled. “And I had to bring it with.”

       “Where’d you get a phoenix?”

       “McGonagall sent it, speaking of which, we need to—“

       “Harry!” Mrs. Weasley cried, wrapping him up in a hug. “So good to see you!”

       “Sorry about the bird,” he wheezed as the air was crushed from his body.

       “Oh, it’s no worry,” she laughed, finally releasing him. He was about to finish his thought to Ron when another pair of arms clamped around him.

       “Harry!” Hermione shouted, her hair nearly smothering him. “I’m so glad you came! Do you like my new owl? Mum and dad got it for me once they remembered who I was. Wasn’t that sweet of them?”

       “Yes, very sweet. Do you know what time it is?”

       “Hello, Harry.”

      He turned to see Ginny standing beside him. She smiled and he completely forgot why he cared about the time at all. She came forward and gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek.

       “Harry, m’boy!” Mr. Weasley boomed. “I see you managed well enough with the temporary line, hm?”

       “What? Oh, er, yeah. Yeah, it was fine. Thank you.”

       “You’re very welcome. Thank you for coming out to see us. You’re just in time for breakfast.”

       “Oh,” Harry said as Ginny lead him to the table. Everyone took a seat as Mrs. Weasley brought over huge plates laden with eggs, sausage, bacon, toast, and jam.

       “So, Harry,” Hermione said from her place beside Ron. Harry couldn’t be sure, but he was fairly certain from the position of their arms that they were holding hands under the table. “You never did say, how did you come to own a phoenix?”

       “Oh, I don’t own it,” Harry replied as they all passed plates around. “McGonagall used it to send me a letter.”

       “Is it hers then?”

       “No, I don’t think so,” he said, pulling out the letter. “But you two should read this.”

      Ron took the note and skimmed his eyes over it.

       “What does it say?” Ginny asked.

       “It says dad opened up a temporary connection at the Dursley’s,” Ron laughed.

       “Oh, sorry, wrong letter,” Harry sighed, pulling out the other and handing it to Hermione. They read it together and Ron scowled.

       “Hang on,” he grunted, snatching the letter away. “What is this rubbish? _Bring the other two?_ We don’t even get names?”

       “Oh, Ron, honestly,” Hermione laughed, rolling her eyes. She took the note and passed it to Ginny, who read it and passed it to her parents.

       “What d’you suppose she needs advice on?” Ron asked, taking a bite of sausage.

       “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to work it out since yesterday. I haven’t got the slightest clue.”

       “Well, the letter says we need to be there at nine thirty,” Hermione pointed out as she checked her watch. “It’s nine twenty now.”

       “Just enough time to finish breakfast,” Mrs. Weasley said happily.

       “But how are we supposed to get there?” Hermione pressed. “You can’t apparate within the grounds, and if we show up at the gates, who will let us in?”

       “I dunno. I hadn’t thought about that,” Harry admitted. “Do you suppose George might know some way in?”

       “Not sure,” Ginny replied. “He might, but he probably wouldn’t be able to tell us in the next ten minutes.”

       “Does anyone know if the castle has any floo connections?” Mr. Weasley offered. “You could go that way.”

       “I don’t know if anyone fixed those after Umbridge left,” Ron mused.

       “They closed them all when the Death Eaters took over,” Ginny replied. “So we couldn’t get out.” They all continued to bicker for a few more minutes before the phoenix descended from the rafters.

       “What do you want?” Harry asked as the bird splayed its tail feathers across the table. It stared at him for a moment and then gave up, deciding to look at Hermione instead. It only took her a few seconds to catch on.

       “Oh,” she said, taking hold of a feather. “Grab on.”

       “What?” Ron asked.

       “Phoenixes can apparate,” she explained. “They do it sort of like house elves, though, so they can go anywhere. The bird is going to take us to McGonagall.”

       “Are you sure?” Harry asked.

       “Why else would she go to the trouble to send a phoenix?”

      Harry and Ron had to admit she had a point. They each took hold of a tail feather and waited.

      Ginny opened her mouth. “Are you _completely_ sure you shouldn’t check—“

       _Whoosh!_

      They were surrounded with orange flames that didn’t burn. In fact, they were very much like the green flames Harry had crawled through a moment ago. Just as they started to warm, the flames vanished. They found themselves standing in the Great Hall.

       “Well done, Hermione,” Harry praised looking around. The room was not what it had once been. There was no ceiling and an entire wall had been blasted away. There was no rubble either, though. It had been cleaned. Now, it had the effect of Greek ruins or something of the like.

       “Higher,” they heard a scratchy voice bark. “Lift that higher. Now a bit to the left.” It was Filch and he seemed to be giving instructions. Based on the thuds and scraping noises, Harry guessed he was leading a building crew.

       “Nine twenty five,” Hermione said, looking at her watch again. They all dropped the tail feathers they had been holding and the bird took off, soaring straight out of the opening in the roof and out of sight.

       “Huh, so that’s why it stayed,” Harry mused. Ron gave him a shove and the trio took off running, taking the all too familiar path from the entrance hall to the head master’s office. Filch’s team had been doing an excellent job, as Hogwarts seemed to have been repaired for the most part. It was still easy to tell which walls had been replaced: there would be a distinct lack of paintings or tapestries where the stone had been blasted away and rebuilt. Harry felt both rather at home and very out of place here. This school was his favorite place in the entire world, but he’d been away for a year and, on top of that, the corridors were now almost entirely empty. It was rather odd to be at Hogwarts in July, but McGonagall had asked that they come. Soon, they arrived at the gargoyle that sat outside the entrance to the Headmaster’s office.

       “Ah, I see they’ve put you right,” Harry said happily, taking in the stone creature’s appearance.

       “Yes, Flitwick did it,” the gargoyle replied.

       “Good,” Harry nodded. “Is there a password?”

       “Yes, but I figure I’ll just let you lot up without it.” At this, the gargoyle leapt aside and a spiral staircase that twisted upwards appeared. Harry got on, followed closely by Ron and Hermione.

       “You know, I’m actually quite worried now,” Hermione whispered. “I mean, McGonagall’s not exactly the type to need help making up her mind, especially help from us.” Before Ron or Harry could voice their opinions, the staircase stopped and they were suddenly face to face with a brass knocker affixed to a heavy wooden door. Harry knocked loudly.

       “Come in,” a stern voice called. They opened the door and there was Professor McGonagall, the same as always, seated behind the headmaster’s desk. This office was now hers and looked very different from when it had belonged to Albus Dumbledore. There were no spindly silver instruments puffing and whirring, but rather a multitude of thick books, a dignified looking stone bust, and a handsome wizard chess set complete with smushy tartan arm chairs. One item that Harry recognized straight away was a shallow stone basin with runes around the edge; it was Dumbledore’s pensive and McGonnagal had it out on the desk.

       “Ah, yes, you’re here,” McGonagall said as Hermione closed the door behind herself. “Potter, Weasley, Granger, I would like you all to meet Ms. Elladora Blooming and her family.” She gestured to their right and Harry saw a crowd of pale, dark haired people he had not noticed upon entering the room.

      A lovely, towering woman with thick brown hair and large brown eyes stood at the back of the brood. Beside her was a shorter woman with very similar features. In front of this pair stood two more people. One was an incredibly tall, slender woman with strange, blue-green eyes and short, dark hair that was tied back with a bandana. She wore battered old jeans, heavy boots, and a dirty white henley shirt. She also looked a bit sweaty, as though she’d been working very hard. To her left, was a boy. This boy did not look like he’d been working. In fact, he was pristinely clean from the tips of his shiny black shoes all the way up to his shiny, black hair. He stared at Harry with a face so familiar, so sinister, that Harry drew his wand instinctively, angry red sparks shooting out of the tip. Without warning, he found himself pinned to the floor by an invisible, crushing force.

       “Nym!” The short woman cried. “Let him up! _Let him up!_ ”

       “He’s _unarmed_ , Potter,” the tall girl said, pulling the other boy closer to her side. Her voice was low, barely above a whisper, but it was positively venomous.

       “Nymeria,” the tall, imperious looking woman sighed. “Let him up. He won’t hurt Julian. Honestly, I’m glad he noticed. Familiar looking, isn’t he Potter?” The massive force vanished from his body and Harry scrambled to his feet.

       “He looks just like—”

       “Tom Riddle, yes,” the woman nodded. “Yes, he does. That’s who we’re here about, actually. I’ve come to collect Tom’s remains, if you’ll let me have them.”

       “I’m…sorry?” Harry gasped, looking quickly to McGonagall. She stared sternly back and nodded. “What do you want with Voldemort’s body?” Harry snorted, turning back to the woman. He wasn’t sure who she was, but she knew Voldemort’s given name.

       “Potter, Weasley, Granger,” McGonagall said. “This is what I asked you here for. I thought you all might like a say in deciding the fate of Voldemort’s remains.”

       “What makes you think you have any right to them?” Hermione inquired. She didn’t sound rude; just curious. “Were you a follower of his?”

       “No,” the woman said, annoyance flickering across her refined features. “I am the mother of his child.” Ron’s jaw dropped; Hermione put a hand over her mouth; Harry grinned.

       “Is this a joke?” he said, almost laughing. “You’re kidding, right?”

       “Not in the least. I had his child the year he turned eighteen.”

       “Forgive me, but you don’t look old enough,” Hermione said gently. “Voldemort attended school over _fifty years ago_.”

       “I believe you had the extreme fortune of knowing one Nymphadora Lupin nee Tonks?” The woman said, stepping from behind the little crowd and pulling a heavy green travelling cloak from her shoulders. She peered down at them and it became clear she was waiting for an answer. Harry gave a short nod.

       “Yes, well,” the woman continued, smiling slightly. “In that case, you are familiar with the odd beings that are metamorphmagi. I share the title with the late Mrs. Lupin.” At these words, she began to change: her hair grayed, wrinkles carved their way through her lovely features, her straight back stooped slightly, and her flawless hands became slightly thin and spotted. “I use my gift to stay in my prime,” she said with a gentle sort of laugh. “Though it becomes considerably harder to do as I age. I am currently seventy two years old. I finished my education here at Hogwarts fifty five years ago, in the same year as Tom Riddle. I will gladly explain everything, but I would rather like to sit down before I begin.” She moved toward the chair across from McGonagall and Harry had barely twitched forward to help her before the tall girl with the bandana was at her elbow. She eased Ms. Blooming into the chair very gently and then waved an empty hand. Five more chairs suddenly appeared.

       “How did you do that without a wand?” Ron asked as everyone took their places.

       “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’m going to go back down now.”

       “Nym, honey, I think you should stay,” the shorter woman said.

       “Let her go,” Ms. Blooming laughed. “She’s heard it before.”

       “I’ll find you when it’s time to leave,” the tall girl said. “Later, Jules.” The boy smiled and waved and the girl left.

       “That was my granddaughter, Nymeria,” Ms. Blooming explained. “She’s been helping with the repairs on the castle. She’s a very powerful witch; we’re quite proud of her. This is her brother, Julian, and their mother—my daughter—Margaret Hawthorne.”

       “Pleased to meet you,” Ron volunteered. Julian nodded and his mother sat beside the old woman, rubbing her temples; she reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley trying to cope with the antics of her children.

       “Now, Ms. Blooming,” McGonagall said, trying to bring the group back to its purpose.

       “Oh, Elladora, please.”

       “Of course. _Elladora_ ,” McGonnagal corrected. “You must understand that it is very hard to believe that Voldemort had an heir; many people would be horrified to learn of such an event.”

       “I understand completely,” Ms. Blooming said quietly. “But the existence of Margaret need not alarm anyone; I see no reason that anyone should have to find out who her father was. I am not, of course, saying that I am ashamed that I had a child with Tom Riddle, but that is beside the point. I am not trying to convince the world that Voldemort had a portion of good in him; I am only trying to convince _you_ to allow my family and I to bury our Tom.”

       “You called him Tom and Voldemort,” Harry said, raising his eye brows.

       “I called Voldemort Voldemort, yes,” Ms. Blooming sighed. “You see, to me, there is a division of man. I am here for Tom, not Voldemort. _Tom_.”

       “So how did you know him?” Hermione asked. “Other than being school mates, of course. You must have been rather close to have had his baby.”

       “We were very close,” she affirmed. “I was Tom’s favorite; closer to him than anyone else.”

       “I find that rather hard to believe,” Harry snorted. “I know for a fact that Voldemort didn’t keep friends. Even in school, he only ever had cronies. And believe me, you’re not the first to claim you were his favorite.”

       “I assume you are speaking of the ever charming Bellatrix Lestrange?” Ms. Blooming said acidly. “The fact that she nurtured twisted sexual fantasies between herself and her master—mixed them up with reality—is nothing like me. In fact, I’ve always considered Bella to be my opposite. You see, she fell in love with Lord Voldemort so passionately and obsessively that she would not believe he had ever been anything else. I, on the other hand, loved—and I use the term loosely—Tom Riddle. I was so attached to him that I could not believe he would ever break himself the way he did.”

       “You didn’t really love him?” Asked Ron.

       “No, I don’t think so,” she sighed. “I loved…what we had. I loved our relationship, the way we confided in one another and only in one another. I don’t think I truly loved Tom, though that’s not to say I wasn’t rather fond of him.”

       “Wait, I’m confused,” Ron grunted. Harry agreed heartily, though Hermione and McGonagall were both nodding in complete comprehension.

       “Allow me to explain fully,” Ms. Blooming sighed. “I met Tom standing in line for our sorting. No one was talking to him and though I’ve never been particularly social, my mother had raised me to include others. I went right to him, held his hand, and turned my hair blue to make him smile. I think if I’d been too talkative I would have scared him off, but I was silent and just held his hand. He was so nervous he gripped my fingers hard enough to bruise them. As my surname was Blooming and his Riddle, I was sorted before he was. I went to Ravenclaw and, as you probably know, he went to Slytherin, though it didn’t deter us from one another.

       “He was entirely new to the world of magic—though he’d all but memorized his spell books—and I’m a pureblood and a metamorphmagi, so I fascinated him. I was rather curious about him, but not many others seemed to react in the same way. He spent much of his time in his first year entirely alone, but he didn’t mind my company. He was too proud to seek it out, though. I hated the large groups the girls at school seemed to form into and Tom was a perfect excuse not to join one, so I would go to him. I claimed him as my best friend and, although he was handsome, girls at that age are still not particularly keen on making friends with boys, so they let me be.

       “Anyway, over the next year or so, he gathered his group of cronies—as you called them—but often returned to me as an escape. Brainless strong men didn’t really meet his intellectual needs.”

       “But you did?” Hermione interrupted. “He was really advanced, though.”

       “Yes, he was,” Ms. Blooming assented. “And as you’ve no doubt learned, he was top in all his classes. What you may _not_ know is that I was his constant second. We both ended up prefects and when he earned Head Boy, I was Head Girl. We were a pair for our entire lives here at Hogwarts. From almost day one, people asked us if we were a couple; actually, it was a constant stream until Tom got so irritated one day that he screamed ‘yes’ at a girl and set her hair on fire. I am sure, though, that it actually _was_ an accident. We were an official ‘couple’ from our fifth year on.”

       “Voldemort created his first Horcrux in his sixth year,” Harry said quietly. “Did you know that?”

       “No, he made his second,” she replied, rather sadly. “He used my diary.”


	3. The Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Ron, and Hermione cast their votes on what should happen with Voldemort's body.

      “Your…your diary?” Harry asked numbly. No one outside of the order had ever known that the diary had been a Horcrux.

       “Mr. Potter, I hope you are not laboring under the delusion that I knew nothing of Tom’s activities within the school?” Ms. Blooming laughed. “I knew what he was doing. He didn’t tell me everything, never his end goals, but I knew what he was doing. You see, he didn’t want to offend me. I would not bow to him, would not call him ‘master.’ I was every bit as proud as he was, so he didn’t waste the attempt. He wouldn’t admit I was an equal, but I was a tolerable rebel. We got on well together, but I digress.

       “He developed his taste for nasty magic very early on. He found one really terrible book in fourth year, a great black thing, and he’d sit and read the spells to me. I thought it was a joke, hearing about brain melting and limb inverting. Then he found the page on Horcruxes and the instructions and incantation for it and the intolerable…act. I knew he wanted to make one; he said he’d try over the summer before sixth year. I didn’t know exactly what a Horcrux was; I wouldn’t read the page and wouldn’t let him read it to me. I had a rough outline of it as a protected piece of soul, and I knew it wasn’t figurative. I didn’t know what one had to do to make one and, at the time, I didn’t think it was all that terrible that Tom _was_ making one. I thought that if it was in a book, it was common knowledge; it couldn’t be that dangerous. He wasn’t sure if you could make more than one though, but he found a way. I was the one that cleared the path for him, and I’m not proud to say it.”

       “Cleared the path how, Elladora?” McGonagall prompted.

       “I suggested he speak to Slughorn,” she said with a shrug. “I had first recommended Dumbledore; I thought making a Horcrux might involve some sort of transformation, so who better to ask than a transfiguration expert? But, of course, Tom didn’t trust Dumbledore. I mistrusted him as well, but only out of respect for my alliance. Tom intended to go to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but I talked him out of it. I knew he was chummy with Dumbledore, so he’d spill the beans.

       “No, I told him to go to Horace Slughorn. We were prized members of that awful ‘Slug Club.’ I hated how he singled people out; as I mentioned, I was raised to include everyone. But Tom loved it and I attended at his request. I was his date to the parties. Anyway, I spent a lot of time observing at the dinners and I was able to put together a pretty good picture of Slughorn. He liked being surrounded by famous people, but he liked being treated as though he were one of them even better. He was always talking to people, Tom more than anyone else. Whenever he addressed me, I would shrug and lay my head on Tom’s shoulder. That always put Slug in a great mood; he didn’t mind that I was shy, I was ‘in love!’ And what could be more exciting than seeing two students clearly destined to achieve greatness paired together so early on, and in his very club! He never caught on that I was learning him. If he’d gotten me talking, I guarantee I never would have learned what I had and this mess wouldn’t have started.

       “You see, Tom would pace around, thinking as hard as he could for a way to get the information out of Slughorn; he thought he would need to use force. I surprised him with a big box of candied pineapple. He hated the stuff and tried to give it back when I explained that it was Slughorn’s favorite. He caught my meaning very quickly. We spent the next few days planning the conversation he would have with Slughorn; mostly he would suggest things and I would shoot them down or approve them. In the end, we decided that after one of the dinners, Tom and his boys would plead with Slughorn to stay a little later. I would tell Tom that I couldn’t stay up with him, but would someone walk with me to my dormitory?

       “Girls traveled in packs then, so this would obviously draw the others away. Before we left, we would prompt Slughorn to give a lecture on Felix Felicius and one of the days he drank it and present him with the pineapple for good measure.

       “Then one carefully planned remark was made by a crony. He said something along the lines of, ‘how did anyone get so clever as to figure out that potion?’ This then entered the boys and Slughorn into a discussion on the merit of school work, particularly in potions. They stroked the Professor’s ego by asking him how he had managed to become so masterful in the subject and how could they do the same? They let him talk as much as he wanted.

       “Finally, the professor sent them packing, and Tom stayed behind and posed the crucial question. Because of the carefully laid out discussion that had already taken place, Slughorn took it as more advice seeking. He thought that Tom wanted his help in research, in finding knowledge he would trust from no one else, just like the information on which type of cauldron was best for sleeping draughts. It seemed trivial, though undoubtedly uncomfortable. He told Tom everything he needed, just like I knew he would.”

      This information chilled Harry more than the remark about the diary. He was absolutely sure that aside from himself, Horace Slughorn, and Albus Dumbledore, no one had ever seen that memory. Not even Ron and Hermione knew the details of it, but here was this woman that knew everything; that claimed to have thought it all up.

       “So, then what?” Ron blurted.

       “So then he took my diary and made another,” she said simply. “Of course, that was also the year the Chamber of Secrets was opened. When Tom and I read about it in our first year, he decided we ought to try and find it. I figured it was a myth, just like everyone else, but I played along with Tom’s rantings. I remember very clearly, in our fourth year, I was lying out by the lake and Tom was walking these tight little circles around me, like a cat. He kept pestering me for places I thought the chamber would be and how he’d get in. As always, I would just spit out ludicrous locations. Every time I said one, Tom would hyper analyze it and shoot it down. We’d done the dungeons, Slytherin common room, other house common rooms, the great hall, all the obvious places. I remember on that day telling him that the vanishing step on the one staircase probably led to it. He almost bought that one. Then I said it was probably a toilet in the girl’s bathroom!

       “He stood there and fumed over that. He said that no one would touch it or over examine it if it were a toilet. Also, it would be an inconspicuous location, because who would ever think that something so great, concealed by such a magnificent wizard, would be hidden in a girl’s _toilet_? I told him he was a wing nut and he dropped it. Then, two years later, the thing opened.

       “I accepted the story Tom told on Hagrid, just like everyone else did, but I didn’t believe it. I mean no insult to Hagrid, but he was clearly not the right type to do it. It had to be the heir of Slytherin, and he was nothing close. But he had that thing in his closet, and I knew about acromantulas. I knew it was more than capable of killing poor Myrtle. The day after they took her body away, Tom showed me his new Horcrux; he’d added his initials to the cover of it. Like I told you, I didn’t know how one made a Horcrux. I didn’t know he had to kill someone to do it; I didn’t know what he had to do to the body. If I had, I would have known immediately that it had been him that killed Myrtle. As it was, I didn’t learn until my seventh year when he told me himself.”

       “What happened after the Chamber?” Hermione asked. “After the second Horcrux?”

       “Tom told me he wanted to make another,” she sighed. “He told me his fascination with the Hogwarts founders. I told him about the Grey Lady; I was in Ravenclaw, after all. She’d mentioned to me once that she was Rowena Ravenclaw’s daughter. I suggested he go and talk to her and maybe she’d give him something of her mother’s. We never discussed what she said, but he told me he’d talked to her. That was very much how we worked. I never pushed too far into Tom’s life; he would have left if I had. I’ve always wondered, though, what did she tell him about? I assume that you know, Mr. Potter?”

       “She told him about the diadem,” Harry replied. “She told him where she’d hidden it.”

       “Ah,” Ms. Blooming said knowingly. “That would have rather enthralled him. He had a taste for grandeur. I probably only fed it because I brought him home with me a few times. I’m a pureblood, as I’ve said, and from a rather wealthy line. Tom was very fond of our manor when he came to visit; when my family left, I believe it fell into the hands of my uncle: one Viciox Malfoy. He and his son Abraxis kept it in the family for us.”

       “I see,” McGonagall huffed. “But, after the Grey Lady?”

       “Oh, after her,” Ms. Blooming sighed, taking her daughter’s pretty hand in her two wrinkled ones. “Well, things didn’t happen one after the other. There were always a few things going on at once. I know that in our sixth year, Tom started wearing that ugly ring around.” Harry’s heart jumped. “He told me he’d gotten it from his uncle. He quit wearing it once he had the diary though. Hmm…let’s see. The rest of that year was fairly quiet; after making it, Tom had been fascinated by his diary, but when we came back for seventh year, he didn’t have it. He said he’d put it somewhere safe. I felt bad for him—he seemed a little out of sorts without the thing in his hands to play with. That was the year I got him Naggy.”

       “ _Naggy_?” Harry asked, already dreading the explanation.

       “Yes, Naggy,” Ms. Blooming repeated. “That’s what I called her, anyway. He called her Nagini. She was a Christmas present to him. My parents and I went on holiday to South America that year and I brought her back for him. I’d cleared it with Headmaster Dippet beforehand, of course. She was a little thing when I gave her to him, maybe as long as my forearm, as wide as my two fingers. That was seventh year though. So much happened in such a short time, it’s hard to keep it all straight.”

      Had Harry not already known the story this woman was telling, he was certain he would have been lost. She was speaking in circles, jumping forward and back in time. In some ways, it made him trust her even more. She wasn’t telling a rehearsed, chronological story; she was recounting her memories as they came to her. Each bit that she shared made him more and more uneasy.

       “Oh,” she sighed, patting her chin with the tips of her fingers. “I suppose…I suppose it was the summer before that, between sixth and seventh years, when things started unraveling. It was towards the end of August, and I was getting ready for the Hogwarts Express. I was relining my owl cage and my family used old muggle newspapers for that. Well, I laid a sheet down and saw as the head line ‘Tom Riddle Dead’ with a photo of him right there! Naturally, I grabbed it out of the cage and started reading. It referred to the wealthy Riddle family of Little Hangleton. They were found dead in their home and the photo of Tom was actually a family portrait of the three Riddles. I checked the date on the paper and saw it was right around two years old. It had been published right when that nasty ring showed up on his finger; the ring the _orphan_ got from his _uncle_. That was too much of a coincidence to ignore. I put the clipping in my trunk and showed Tom when I got to school. He was cornered and he knew it, so he told me.

       “He started with his questions at the orphanage and how he traced his mother. Then he went to her old house and found his filthy—his word, not mine—uncle, who was wearing the ring. His uncle told him all about the Riddles on the other side of town and he went to visit them, taking the ring for good measure. He told me his father had tried to throw him out. He told me he killed them and that he saved his father for last, using his murder to make his first Horcrux.

       “That was when I caught on: you _use_ murder to make a Horcrux. I asked him about Myrtle. He said I was right, the Chamber was in a girl’s bathroom but not a toilet; he said that he hadn’t meant to kill her, but since she died he figured he wouldn’t let her go to waste and so he made the diary. He was about to tell me his future plans, but I told him I didn’t want to know. I just made him swear no more killing until we finished Hogwarts. Then, on our last night at school, we…” She trailed off and looked at her daughter with a little smile.

       “Oh, well…he was curious,” Ms. Blooming sighed. “Many of his followers had begun pairing off and he saw the way they changed when they were in love. He figured love equated to sex and I was available, so he thought he’d have an experiment. Apparently, he figured wrong and it didn’t change anything for him. I found out I was pregnant with Maggie the second week of summer. I didn’t tell him. Tom went funny after school, as I’m sure you know. His cronies stayed with him and he made sure they only ever called him Voldemort. Then he went to Borgin and Burke’s and he would write to me about the awful things he conned people out of. I didn’t ever actually see him that summer, but when he told me he’d found two ‘cantidates’ I told him that if he made one more Horcrux, he’d never see me again. Then old Hepzibah turned up dead and Tom vanished and I knew what that meant, so I vanished too. My parents sent out notices to everyone that I’d died in a freak accident during our move to America. News of my death obviously found him; when Tom turned into Voldemort completely and revealed himself to the world he wouldn’t have thought of me as a comrade. I would have been a loose end, someone that knew too much. He would have hunted for me.”

       “Yeah, I suppose that pans out,” Harry said. “But there’s just one gaping problem: Dumbledore would have known about you and told me.”

       “Dumbledore told you what was necessary and relevant,” Ms. Blooming said smartly. “He found me shortly after your encounter with a basilisk and we spoke. I told him the two Horcruxes I knew of and then he left me alone. He knew I was not going to help Voldemort; honestly, the knowledge that I had would only have hurt him, and I would not hurt Tom. I think Dumbledore was also keen to protect my family. He was quite taken with my grandchildren, and even mentioned that Julian and his twin sister, Tempest, are nearly the same age as you.”

       “Would Voldemort really have attacked his own daughter and grandchildren?” Hermione whispered.

       “Oh, he would probably have left the kids,” Ms. Blooming’s daughter, Margaret, said with a smile. She, unlike her mother, spoke with an American accent. “They’re pure blooded, smart, and very talented. Nym’s hard to handle even without a wand. But he would have killed me. I’m a squib; I would have embarrassed him. I mean, he was supposed to be the most powerful wizard in the world and he couldn’t even make a witch.”

       “If you are as of yet unconvinced,” McGonagall said, “Ms. Blooming has given full memories of everything she’s just told us.” She gestured at the pensive. “I’ve already seen everything and it’s just as she’s said. You may view them if you’d like, or are you prepared to decide?”

       “Give it to them,” Harry said instantly. “Let them take his body. What does anyone here want it for?”

       “Where will he be going?” Hermione asked.

       “In my back garden,” Ms. Blooming answered. “We would like to cremate him and bury him in an unadorned grave. Grandeur would only affirm what he did; and letting people know where he is would only perpetuate his influence.”

       “Would you want the horcruxes?” Ron asked suddenly. “I mean, we haven’t left them all just lying around, you know.”

       “Certainly. I would like to bury him as close to whole as possible,” Ms. Blooming sighed. “As close to _Tom_ as possible. And besides, we don’t need it getting out to anyone else that you can make multiple Horcruxes, now do we? The fewer that people see, the better. We’ll bury them with him. What did all of them end up being?”

       “Well, there was the ring and the diary,” Harry replied.

       “And the Diadem and Nagini,” Hermione added.

       “He used Nagini?” Ms. Blooming said, sounding disgusted. “Any others?”

       “Well, he found Slytherin’s locket and a cup Hufflepuff owned,” Ron muttered.

       “And lastly, there was me,” Harry said defiantly. “I’m not going to be buried with him, though.”

       “I should think not,” Margaret laughed. “I have a feeling the fact that you were a Horcrux was a surprise for the both of you?”

      Harry nodded.

       “Well then,” Ms. Blooming said, sitting up straight and closing her eyes briefly. When she opened them, she had returned to her young, lovely appearance. “May we see him?” McGonagall nodded led the way out of her office and down the spiral stair case. At the bottom, they found Nymeria, looking as though she were about to come up. She was still in her grubby work clothes, but she’d washed her hands and face.

       “We’re done for the day,” she said, addressing her grandmother. “What did they decide?”

       “We may take him with us.”

      The tall girl nodded and fell in step with the rest of the group as McGonagall led them to the dungeon. They went into what was once Snape’s office and, lain across the desk, there was an absurdly long coffin.

       “Can it be opened?” Ms. Blooming asked. McGonagall took her around to the other side and raised the lid. It was positioned so that no one but the pair of them could see inside. Ms. Blooming shut her eyes and gave her head a tiny shake. McGonagall closed it again.

       “Not what he once was,” she sniffed.

       “Ready, Grandma?” Nym asked, now drawing her wand.

       “Put the horcruxes with him,” Ms.

      Blooming said, finally opening her eyes again.

      McGonagall flicked her wand and a crate lifted out of the corner and came to rest on top of the coffin.

       “The ring isn’t there,” Harry said automatically. “I, um, well, Dumbledore and I…you see…”

       “It was ugly anyway,” Ms. Blooming replied. “I’m sure you have your reasons. Go on, dear.” Nymeria flicked her wand and the coffin rose; she steered it out of the room and followed after.

       “So that’s it?” Ron asked, staring out the door way. “That’s all? That’s the end to Voldemort?”

       “He’ll be buried as Tom Marvolo Riddle,” Margaret muttered. “Just like he was born. Nothing special.” Her mother came forward and took McGonagall’s hand.

       “Thank you very much, Professor,” she said politely. “And also to you three. I suppose we’ll be on our way now.”

       “Wait, you’re just disappearing again?” Harry asked, slightly alarmed. This woman was incredible to him. All these people were. _They were Voldemort’s family_. Ms. Blooming smiled sweetly at him.

       “Only for a little while,” she shrugged. “This certainly won’t be the last you see of us.” Harry saw her eyes dart quickly to her side, where Julian was standing. This confused him a great deal, but Ms. Blooming didn’t say anything more.

       “It’s been a pleasure to meet you all,” Margaret said, shaking everyone’s hands. Her son followed suit.

       “Sorry Nymmer and the rest of them aren’t here to say thank you,” he sighed.

       “There are more?” Hermione asked.

       “Lots,” Julian laughed. “Sorry I scared you, by the way,” he added, turning to Harry. “Nym totally kicked your butt though; you had no chance.”

       “Yeah, that was rough,” Harry grinned. “She’s a pretty powerful witch, isn’t she?”

       “Takes after grandpa-V,” Julian shrugged. “Not in the whole sadistic-bastard way, but she’s _really_ good. Although, you’ll figure that out for yourselves soon enough.” He waggled his eyebrows and then followed his family out, closing the door behind them.

       “Professor, what was he talking about?” Hermione asked. McGonagall pursed her lips, though not before a smile appeared there.

       “I have no idea,” she said tersely. “Thank you for coming; Arrow will see that you make it home.”

       “Arrow?” Harry asked.

       “The phoenix that brought you here.”

       “Whose is he?”

       “You’ll find out soon enough, now please, to the Great Hall if you will.”

       “But Professor—“

       “ _Now_ , Potter,” she said sternly, though she seemed to be fighting a smile. They all made their way back and the bird was waiting for them, preening in the sun.

       “Arrow,” McGonagall said. It looked up at her. “Thank you very much for your services today. They just need to go back to where they came from and then you are free to go.” Arrow bowed his head and then flew to them, hovering to allow the trio to catch hold of his tail.

       “Professor, what is going on?” Harry asked.

       “I’ll see you soon, Potter,” she replied. And then they were surrounded by flames.


	4. The Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The golden trio receive invitations too good to refuse

       Arrow left them just outside the door to the burrow and vanished again. They each looked at one another.

       “What are we going to tell them?” Ron asked. “Mum, Dad, and Ginny I mean.”

       “Couldn't we just tell the truth?” Hermione suggested.

       “I don’t know,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, McGonagall said it herself: Most people would be terrified to learn that Voldemort has an heir. I don’t mean anything by it, but I think your mum and dad might fall under that category.”

       “What about Ginny?” Hermione asked.

       “Tell her,” Ron said firmly. “Tell her, Harry.”

      Harry nodded and they went inside.

       “Harry, dear, you got a letter while you were gone,” Mrs. Weasley said when she saw them. “It’s from the Tonks’.” She offered him an envelope and he took it. The letter was an anecdote of how Ted and Andromeda had brought Teddy out to Privet Drive, only to find that Harry was not there and that his family had not been expecting visitors. He was ‘not to worry, though’ as everything had been set straight and they hoped he had a lovely time while he was away.

       “Oh no,” Harry groaned, flopping into a chair. “I completely forgot to tell them not to bring Teddy over!”

       “Well, from the looks of things,” Ginny said, reading the letter as well. “They seemed to find it rather amusing.”

       “How did your meeting with McGonagall go?” Mrs. Weasley asked as Ron and Hermione sat down as well.

       “Yes, what did she want?” Ginny asked.

       “It was…well, a secret,” Harry sighed. Mrs. Weasley sighed too.

       “More secrets. It’s always secrets with you three.”

       “Oh come on mum,” Ron groaned. “It’s not so bad this time actually. It has absolutely no effect on any of our lives.”

       “It actually doesn't,” Hermione affirmed. “We just ought to keep it quiet. For the privacy of the people involved.”

      Harry leaned over and whispered to Ginny, “I’ll tell you later.” She smiled and gave a tiny nod to show she’d heard. Mrs. Weasley did not see the exchange.

       “I just hope you lot know what you’re doing,” she said with just a hint of warning in her tone. “Whatever this secret is, it had better not involve you all running off for a full year to god knows where while we all bite our fingernails and wait.”

       “Mum, please don’t—“

      But Ron didn't finish his thought because he was interrupted by a loud crack on the window. He rolled his eyes and looked at his sister, who was already up and walking to the window. She smiled and pushed it open and in flapped a very excited little owl with a packet of letters in his beak.

       “Pigwidgeon!” Harry laughed as the tiny puff of feathers spiraled around the room. “I’d nearly forgotten about him. How is he, Ron?”

       “Ask _Ginny_ ,” the red head sneered, sounding quite bitter. “He’s _hers_ now.”

       “What?” Harry asked, looking back and forth between them. Ginny held up her hands and Pig flew happily towards them, crashing into her palms with such force that she had to bobble him back and forth to catch him.

       “I can’t help it that while you were gone, he and I bonded,” she said, setting the dazed bird in her lap to pry the letters out of his mouth. “I also can’t help it that he likes me more than he ever liked you.”

       “Ronald, leave Ginny be,” Mrs. Weasley instructed as she tidied up the kitchen. “She was nice enough to look after him for you while you were away. If you like, you can come with and buy yourself a new owl when we pick up Ginny’s school things. We’re just waiting on her list.”

       “I think that’s what Piggy just brought,” Ginny said, examining the parcel of letters. Ron mouthed ‘Piggy’ in disgust. Harry laughed but Hermione leaned over the table to look at what Ginny had.

       “Why are there so many?” She asked.

       “I don’t know, but there’s one for you. There’s one for all of us.”

       “What?” Harry asked, looking down as well. There was indeed a letter addressed to ‘Mr. Harry Potter, At the breakfast table, The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole.’ He had only just picked his up, but Hermione had already torn hers open and was busily reading it.

       “They’re Hogwarts letters!” She laughed, shuffling through the pages. “Oh my word, listen: _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a seventh year student_ ,” she read. “ _You will not be required to return for this year, as it may be your second time through, but we heartily request that you do. We wish to correct any misteachings of the past school year._ ”

       “Misteachings?” Ron muttered, reading his own letter. Ginny rolled her eyes.

       “The school was run by Death Eaters last year, remember?” she prompted.

       “Have you got to repeat your sixth year?” Harry asked.

       “No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I’m going into seventh year with you.” The other three all raised their eyebrows at this.

       “You really don’t have to go back?” Hermione said sticking her hand out to see Ginny’s letter. She handed it over and Hermione read it, laughed, and gave it back. “Well, I suppose it’s there in writing. Welcome to our year!”

       “Hey, love,” Ron said suddenly, a smirk cracking his face. “You realize what this means? You've just been held back.”

       “Oh _very funny_ , Ronald Weasley,” Hermione snapped, though she wasn't really angry. “If you haven’t noticed, so have you.”

       “Only if I want to be.”

       Hermione’s face fell. “ _Do_ you want to? Harry, what about you? I mean, it’s optional. Do you think we ought to?”

       “I dunno,” Harry shrugged, twirling his letter in his fingers. “I mean, I do miss it. It would be nice to see everyone again as well; you know, when they don’t have…other things to worry about.”

       “Like a war,” Ron nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. We’d be gods there as well. Easily the most popular people in the school.”

       “I’m glad you've got your priorities straight,” Ginny laughed, shaking her head. “Don’t you think it will be strange though, I mean, with so many people…gone.”

       “Maybe it’ll be better,” Hermione said. “I mean, that we can all grieve for them together. We can reclaim our school.”

       “Are you going?” Harry asked.

       “Well, yes,” Hermione said, blushing a little. “I was actually planning to ask McGonagall if I could anyway.”

       “What about you, Harry?” Ginny asked.

       “OH I MIGHT GO TOO,” Ron said very loudly. “THANKS FOR THE CONCERN, DEAR SISTER.”

       “Oh, hush, Ron!”

       “I think I might,” Harry said, mulling it over. “I mean, the worst that could happen is that I don’t like it and I leave. Fred and George did it.”

       “What would you do if you turned it down?” Ron asked.

       “Take Shacklebolt up on his offer; I’d be an auror.”

       “I was thinking of doing that too, actually.”

       “We could do it together,” Harry grinned. “The youngest aurors in the business.”

       “D’you think we ought to go back for just another year though?” Ron asked. “Dad says the best aurors are well rounded. We could go back and try to get a better handle on theory or something.”

       “That’s not a bad idea.”

       “That’s a wonderful idea,” Hermione praised. “Theory is very important.”

       “Yeah,” Ron agreed. “It’s important. And we’ll just leave if it’s hard.” Harry laughed and Hermione sighed. Ginny was still staring at Harry expectantly.

       “You know what,” he said, throwing his letter on to the table. “Why not? Let’s go back.”

       “Let’s go back,” Ron agreed.

       “Are you still going to buy a new owl?” Ginny asked as Pigwidgeon came-to. He hooted sleepily up at her and she stroked his tummy with a finger. Ron watched the interaction with a scowl.

       “I am going to get the biggest, toughest, manliest owl Eyelops Owl Emporium has to offer,” he grumbled. “I’ll name it Bludger or something and it will sit on Pigwidgeon and crush the little traitor.”

       “What about you, Harry?” Hermione asked, ignoring Ron. “Do you think you might get a new owl? Maybe a cat?”

       “I've been considering it,” Harry sighed. “I miss Hedwig.”

       “Just get a phoenix,” Ron joked. “They seem so friendly.”

       “Oh, yeah,” Harry laughed, rolling his eyes. Mrs. Weasley took a seat at the table, looking a little concerned.

       “What’s wrong, mum?” Ginny asked.

       “Well, I mean…I hate to say it, but we’re short on money,” she sighed. “Your father’s only just gotten his job back. Seventh year lists can be quite expensive.”

       “We’ll manage,” Ron said instantly. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to spend anything.”

       “Ronald, please,” Mrs. Weasley said, getting back to her feet. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll just have to wait until your father gets home and then we’ll figure it out. It might have to be put off until the end of the week. But don’t stay here and fret over it. Why don’t you all go outside or something?” They obliged Mrs. Weasley and went out to the orchard for a game of two-on-two quidditch. They were in their usual teams—Harry and Hermione versus Ron and Ginny—and the game was going well, but Ron hit Hermione with an apple claiming it was a bludger and she cursed him out of the air. After his crash to the earth, they retired to the more relaxing pastime of simply walking through the trees.

       “Ginny,” Ron said, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “I’m going to buy your school things, alright?” Harry, Ron, and Hermione had each seen a significant swell in their bank accounts due to the ‘monetary thanks’ people kept sending them. Harry had used all of his to help repair Gringotts, which was the only reason Ron and Hermione were now allowed to have vaults there. Well, a vault. Harry was the only one who knew that they shared it.

       “Ron, you don’t have to do that.”

       “Well, I’m not doing it for you,” he sighed. “It’s for mum and dad. But, I mean, now we can get new stuff. No second hand rubbish. I’ll even get you a new set of robes.”

       “Thanks, Ron,” Ginny smiled, hugging him slightly.

       “How will you do that though?” Hermione asked. “Pay for her things in secret?”

       “We’ll go in secret, of course,” Harry joked. He truly had meant it as just a joke, but Ron was nodding.

       “We should,” he said earnestly. “Mum wants to wait until the end of the week. I say we tell her we’re going to see Percy and George and the just take care of it then. We’ll tell her when we get back.”

       “She’ll guess it if we say we’re going there,” Ginny said. “Besides, it’s barely noon; let’s just go today. We'll say we’re going to visit Luna.”

       “You just went to see Luna the other day,” Hermione said flatly. “I think we should just wait. Ron, I think it’s admirable that you want to buy Ginny’s school things; by all means, go on and do it. But I think the best course of action might be to just let your parents buy everything and then pay your father back. He’ll understand more than your mum.”

       “That’s a good point,” Ron allowed. “But they’ll never buy us new stuff.”

       “Second hand’s not so bad,” Harry said. “That one potions book I got was pretty helpful.”

       “Do you…you mean _Snape’s_ potions book,” Ron laughed, almost incredulous that Harry would make the joke. “Fair enough, mate.”

       “So we’re just going to wait until the end of the week?” Ginny asked.

       “Yeah, I suppose. But I’ll take you in to Madam Malkins in secret at least. We’ll both be needing new robes.”

       “This is a much better plan,” Hermione said happily. “I can’t believe we’re going back.”


	5. The Other Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's old rival is also adjusting to a new way of life.

       Suddenly he was back on those narrow metal walkways, left hand firmly gripping the iron railing and the right balled into a fist at his side. He was looking into the all too familiar cell where his father sat, crouched on a bed while his cell mate writhed and screamed as though under a curse. His father stared absently forward, not really seeming to notice his son, with a serene smile on his face. He was stroking the back of his cell mate’s hand as if to soothe the man. All the while, the poor stranger was screaming as loudly as his body would allow; it was a deep sound that can only come from the bottom of the soul and the edge of desperation.

       “Hush, Hodges,” his father said pleasantly. “I can barely hear the music.” Hodges, the cell mate, went right on screaming and his father began humming, and patting the man’s hand in time to an imagined beat.

       “Oh dear god, Boggs,” Mr. Thuley said, rushing forward. He felt Thuley’s hands, in the same places as always: one on his right shoulder, the other trying to pry his hand off of the railing. “He shouldn’t have to see this. It’s inhumane.”

       “Oh, calm down, Marcus,” Boggs laughed, flicking his cigarette butt down and squishing it out: his foot twisted back and forth, twice to the left, thrice to the right. Draco counted every time. “Old Lucius ain’t havin nuffin done to ‘im. What’s so bad for the boy to see?”

       “Come along, Draco,” Thuley whispered. “Don’t pay any attention to him.”

       “To who?” Draco heard himself ask. “Boggs, or my father?”

       “Neither,” the old man sighed, giving a valiant shove and finally managing to get Draco moving. His feet dragged along the creaking catwalk in front of the cells. They were very high up, well over twenty stories off the ground, and Thuley led Draco higher yet, finally stopping before a quiet cell five stairwells later. Draco took pains to look at nothing but his shoes the entire way.

       “Here you are, son,” Thuley said, unlocking the heavy barred door. “Your mother’s been expecting you.” Draco raised his eyes slowly, first taking in a shape huddled on the floor, and then the waifish blond woman staring at him.

       “Hello, dear,” she said, extending her arms. “You’ll have to come to me. I’m not to move forward when the door’s open.” Draco moved numbly into the dingy little cage and his mother embraced him while Thuley shut the door.

       “Your arms are all bones,” he commented as she released him.

       “Yes, well, I find it a bid hard to eat in the current circumstances,” she replied. “Now come, you can sit here, on Burnadette’s bed; she won’t mind.” Draco glanced at the woman balled up in the corner.

       “Hello, ma’am,” he muttered.

       “Oh, don’t bother with her, Draco,” his mother laughed, patting his knee when he sat. “She had the kiss a few years ago. I hardly think she’s listening.” Burnadette’s eyes were completely blank. Draco turned back to his mother.

       “I don’t understand,” he murmured. “Why are you and father here if you’re not under arrest?”

       “Oh, we’re being processed,” she said lightly. “Just give them a few more days, I’m sure they’ll send us home.”

       “What’s wrong with father?”

       “He was fighting,” his mother replied tersely. “They just… took the fight out. That’s all.”

       “He’s mad, mum,” Draco sighed, dropping his head into his hands. “They’ve driven him mad.”

       “They’ve just taken his fight,” Narcissa snapped. “But, he’ll be right as rain as soon as we’re home again.”

      There was a commotion from down below and a familiar voice bellowed out above the din.  
“Listen, Hodges,” it called. “It’s my wife’s favorite song! _When the fwoopers sing from the pointed lance, the moon calves start their harvest dance!_ ”

       “Get off!” Hodges screamed, and then there was a wet sounding thud and silence. Lucius took up his singing again.

       “What just happened?” Draco said quietly.

       “Oh, well,” Narcissa laughed tightly. “It’s just that sometimes, Lucius is too rough with Mr. Hodges. It’s nothing to worry about.”

      As always, Draco’s mind skipped the rest of his meeting with his mother, picking up again when he was walking past his father’s cell. Inside, the once proud Lucius Malfoy sat on the floor humming peacefully and stroking the bloodied head of his cell mate, who laid sprawled across his legs. There was a red stain on the wall where the poor man’s temple had been smashed.

      Draco jerked awake.

      He’d had the same dream for months now. It seemed like every time he closed his eyes, his mind would replay his first and only visit to Azkaban to see his parents. They’d been released a few weeks ago and sent to a sort of half-way house to be trained to reenter society. Draco had been living alone in the manor house ever since they were taken away. He intended to be gone by the time they returned, but as of yet, had nowhere to go. Well…that wasn’t exactly true.

      He heaved himself out of bed and shuffled to his dresser, taking up the letter that he’d been contemplating nonstop for a week. He leaned heavily against the wall and read it again: it was a Hogwarts letter, announcing his re-acceptance for his final year.

      Because of how the Death Eaters had run the school the previous year, Hogwarts had issued a sort of product recall of all its seventh years. They wanted to give the students a chance to go back and relearn the skills that had been overlooked and to un-learn some lessons, like blood-line superiority and deep, existence shaking fear of the Dark Lord. None of the students were required to return; it was strictly voluntary, and Draco was unsure of whether or not he ought to go. He chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully and stooped to pat Monty.

      Monty was Draco’s roommate of sorts. Draco had found him on his third night alone at the house, sniffing around outside by the rubbish bins. He was a big, barrel-chested brute of a dog with a stubby face and jaggedly docked ears. His body seemed to be nothing but muscle, with particularly large bulges on his thighs and around his neck and shoulders. His coat was a steely grey color with a large blot of white on his massive chest and numerous menacing looking patches of scarred, red-brown skin where hair didn’t grow anymore. When Draco had finally succeeded in luring him inside, he’d found a tattoo on the dog’s belly: M01\17Y. It looked rather like MONTY, and so the dog was named.

      At first, Monty didn’t seem to care that much about Draco, only occasionally acknowledging the boy with a snarl if he stepped too close at feeding time. After a week or two, however, they’d formed a strange sort of bond: not so much owner and dog as boy and fellow beast. Monty tolerated a few pats from Draco now and again and even preferred sleeping in the boy’s bed with him at night than alone elsewhere in the house. Draco’s bed had gotten crowded lately, with the addition of Monty and his other stray-turned-companion, Gin the cat.

      Gin was a mangy, three-legged, one-eyed cat with matted, clay colored fur and more bones than meat. Monty had dropped Gin at Draco’s feet as a sick sort of gift one night after dragging her out of a bush. Draco had named her after the acidic smell she carried with her; he could only assume an alley drunk had thrown a bottle at her. She, Draco, and Monty completed a scruffy, mismatched trio that for the past month and a half had become inseparable.

       “What do you think, Gin?” Draco asked as the feline scraped her wiry body around his ankles. “D’you suppose I ought to go back to school? Be an eighteen-year-old seventh year?” Monty had had enough petting for the day and snapped at Draco’s fingers. He’d yet to ever actually bite anyone, so the action wasn’t the least bit alarming.

       “Right, then,” he sighed, straightening up again. “We’ll just avoid it for one more day.”

      Draco set about fixing himself some breakfast, his companions puttering around at his feet. He didn’t care in the least that it was already eleven o’clock and sat down at the table with his eggs and toast and the Daily Prophet, of which Monty had miraculously eaten only one section.

      As usual, the front page held a story of the wonderful things Harry Potter had been doing to help the wizarding world at large. Draco skipped it over compulsively and settled instead on reading about the latest quidditch match. By the time he’d finished breakfast, he was maddeningly bored and decided that instead of thrashing around the house like he usually did, he’d go out for a walk. He tripped back up the stairs and into his room to change into clean clothes.

      Draco had long since given up on maintaining a formal appearance, trading in his tailored suits for something more casual. Today, he slipped on a white cotton tee shirt and some black jeans. He added a pair of trainers and a worn, leather jacket and started for the door without a single glance in the mirror. He followed what he had designated “The Path” down to the front door.

      Due to the lack of help, parents, and motivation, Draco had allowed the manor to fall into a state of disrepair. The work the Death Eaters had done when the house was their head quarters had never been cleaned up. There were papers, cloaks, bags, and weapons all over the place. In one room, there was a particularly haunting reminder—a large blood stain on the floor from none other than Hermione Granger.

      Rather than clearing it all out, Draco had just devised a clever way to navigate around it all. “The Path” was what he called his cleared-out trail through the halls to all the important places, like his room, the kitchen, the bathroom, and the front door.

      Once he was outside, he and his perpetual escorts walked down the gravel path to the road. The outside looked even more terrible than the inside of the house did. The plants were all over grown, the grass was high, the flowers were dead, and the albino peacocks that had been his father’s pride were somewhere in the back, plucking all their feathers off out of stress. Draco didn’t care, though. It was just a yard.

      He meandered through a muggle village, getting many wary glances as he went, though he suspected they were mostly directed at his dog. When they got into an area with shops, Draco deemed it too crowded for Gin to be on the ground and he scooped her up so she wouldn’t be trampled. He stopped in at a pet shop when she got restless and let her walk around a bit. Draco plopped her on the floor and watched her slink away, most likely going to terrorize the gerbils in the back.

       “Um, sir,” a timid, acne riddled teen said squeakily. “Your dog is eating all the biscuits there.”

       “Oh, is he?” Draco looked around and there was Monty, his head buried in a treat bin, grunting as he ate. He smirked at the brute. “Feel free to stop him if it’s bothering you.”

       “Um, well,” the kid said awkwardly. “It was almost empty anyway; I guess he can polish it off.”

       “Great,” Draco replied. “And since you’re not really doing anything, do you mind explaining what these are for?” He gestured at a large display of chains with loops at both ends.

       “Oh,” the kid squeaked. “These are choke chains. They stop a dog from pulling when he’s on a leash. For your particular animal, I would recommend this one.” He handed over the thickest chain available.

       “Why thank you,” Draco laughed, taking the collar. “And where are the normal dog collars? And what are those jingly things dogs sometimes have?” Draco didn’t know any wizards that had dogs; cats seemed to be the only option.

       “Your dog doesn’t have tags?” The boy inquired, leading Draco to another aisle. “No identification?”

       “Well, he has a tattoo,” Draco offered, examining a wide, black leather dog collar.

       “Is he a fighter?” The kid asked, sounding amazed.

       “A fighter? What does that mean?”

       “Do you fight him in dog fights? You know, where you stick two dogs in a ring and let them have a go at each other,” the gangly teen pressed. “I mean, he is a pit bull after all, and a nasty looking one at that. I’ve been to a fight before; they’re bloody brilliant.”

       “You’re disgusting, you know that, right?” Draco scoffed, glaring at the boy.

       “I—well, it’s cheap entertainment,” the kid mumbled. “Don’t no one get hurt.”

       “Yeah, he looks like he’s had a lot of fun.” The two of them both stared at the horrible scarred patches on Monty’s sides.

       “Well, you could fight ‘im if you wanted.”

       “And you could do your job,” Draco said sharply. “I’ll take these collars and the matching leash. Oh, and a cat ribbon; a green one.”

       “Alright,” the boy mumbled, going behind the counter and cutting the ribbon. “Did you want that tag too?”

       “Yes,” Draco answered. “Have it say ‘Monty.’”

       “You got it.” The boy printed the name on a round, silver tag and affixed it to the black collar. Draco slipped that one and the choke chain around Monty’s neck. The dog stared at Draco as though it was some sort of great betrayal.

       “What was the ribbon for?” The clerk asked. Draco snatched up Gin as she darted by and plopped her on the counter.

       “For my cat,” he said, smirking as he tied the band around her neck. “Isn’t she lovely?” Gin let out a hacking cough, jetting what was clearly the foot of a small animal across the counter. The clerk nodded with a tight smile.

       “So what do we owe you?” Draco asked. Monty jumped up, putting his front feet on the counter and drooling on the kid’s hand.

       “Oh, this one’s on the house,” the boy said, pulling his hand away. Draco almost laughed at how scared he was, but instead just took Gin in one arm and clipped Monty to his new leash before heading out of the shop.

      He’d gotten collars and a leash. He’d put his house color on his cat. If he had intended to stay home, he wouldn’t need any of it. Draco knew what it meant. He had, without really thinking about it, decided to go back to Hogwarts. That was the only place that he cared enough about to keep his animals under control in. He let out a grudging sigh and got a firm hold on Gin and bent down to take Monty’s scruff. With a crack, the three of them appeared in Diagon Alley where Draco figured he’d buy his school supplies. Gin had not enjoyed the apparation and jumped out of Draco’s arms with a hiss. Monty hadn’t really seemed to notice.

       “Nice pitty,” someone called. Draco looked around and saw a woman sitting at one of those spindly tables that are always outside of tea shops.

       “I used to have a blue like that,” she continued, nodding at Monty. “Where’d you get him?”

       “Found him,” Draco replied, walking over to her. He couldn’t see her face under her sun hat. She had on a loose, floral blouse and army green shorts that left her long, slim legs bare up to the hip. She had brown gladiator sandals on her feet and cherry red paint on her toenails.

      Her outfit was particularly strange to Draco and to the people around him because those of the wizarding community generally chose to wear long, loose robes that afforded a lot of coverage. The girl at the table was entirely out of place.

       “He’s a lucky sort of find, isn’t he?” She continued, leaning down and putting her hand out. Monty humped over to her and sniffed at her fingers. She had a familiar voice, but Draco couldn’t place it. “May I give him a treat?” She asked, nodding at the croissant on her plate. Draco shrugged and she tore a piece off. He entirely expected Monty to snap the bread out of her hand, probably damaging her delicate fingers in the process. Instead, she held the treat in the center of her hand and offered it to him with a flat palm, getting slobber in return.

       “Sorry about that,” Draco said awkwardly as she wiped at her hand with a napkin. “He’s still a bit rough around the edges, if you know what I mean. I thought he might bite you honestly.”

       “Pit bulls are the kind of dogs that don’t really know where their mouths are,” she replied, patting Monty’s massive head. “They only bite if people don’t know what they’re doing. And _what_ is that?” She now had a half amused, half disgusted tone, looking at Draco’s feet. Gin was weaving between them.

       “It’s my cat, Gin,” he replied, smiling down at the shabby little thing. “She’s another lucky sort of find.”

       “Do you just attract mangy little animals?” The girl laughed.

       “Probably,” Draco said with a smirk. “You said you had a dog like mine?” He continued, sitting down opposite the girl.

       “I did,” she replied, taking off her hat. Her shiny, black hair was up in a loose knot with a few neat curls around her pale, angular face. She had a strong jaw, high cheek bones, and a straight nose with large, striking eyes. They were a turquoise color Draco had seen many times before.

       “What are you doing here, Nym?” He laughed, leaning across the table and embracing her.

       “I came to get you. I couldn’t stand knowing my little cousin was all alone.”

       “Oh, so this is a collection call?” He scoffed, bristling. “How did you know I’d be here? Were you tracking me?”

       “Calm down,” Nym said, putting her hands up. “I came here with Liddy and Leak. I wanted to eat and maybe pick up a gift for you. We were going to come to your house to get you.”

       “So it _is_ a collection call.”

       “Of sorts.”

       “What’s your plan? Am I supposed to stay with Aunt Margie? Hang out with Tempest and Julian and pretend like everything’s normal?”

       “No, I want you to come stay with me,” she smiled. “In my new house.”

       “You’ve left the flat then?”

       “We have,” she smiled. “Wil inherited this huge…thing from an uncle. It’s worth coming to see.”

       “I would also assume with a big house like that, there’s room for children, hm? Is Wil going to be a father soon?” He smirked. He was rather fond of his cousin’s husband; he was a good person and it didn’t hurt that he was of impeccable lineage.

       “There will be no babies. Just you, me, and Wil living in a mansion in Georgia. So what do you say?” She grinned, rubbing Monty’s fat head again. “Your little mongrels are entirely welcome.”

       “Well, you know, I was planning on going back to school this year.”

       “Then spend the rest of your summer with us. I know you’re not doing well, Draco. Mr. Thuley’s been in touch.”

       “He’s always driving his nose in where is doesn’t belong,” Draco huffed, crossing his arms. Thuley was only a lawyer; why did he pay so much attention to Draco’s life?

       “You should be grateful you’ve got someone looking out for you the way he does,” she countered. “Look at you, Draco. You’re falling apart.”

      Draco turned to look at his reflection in the window of the tea shop. It was the first time he’d actually seen his own face in quite a few months. He looked terrible. His hair was disheveled and had grown long and shaggy. Its platinum color had been reduced to a dingy sort of grey. His face was drawn and his cheek bones jutted out at fierce angles. There were large, dark circles under his eyes, which were blood shot and beady.

       “Well, I’ve certainly looked better,” he mumbled.

       “You look like a heroin addict,” Nym teased. Then her face went serious. “Draco, you aren’t actually an addict, are you? I know that your condition can be hard to deal with on your own, but drugs won’t…”

       “I don’t take heroin,” he assured her. “I just…I gave up I suppose. Who have I got to impress anymore?”

       “Draco, you shouldn’t be trying to impress anyone,” she sighed, touching his wrist. “But you shouldn’t give up on yourself either. Now come on, let’s go to my place and get you cleaned up.”

       “I wanted to buy my school things today.”

       “I would rather have you come home,” Nym said plainly.

       “I just…”

       “Alright,” she said, standing up. Draco rose as well and they started shopping. That was one thing that he had always loved about his cousin. Nym knew when to push, and when to let things be. She allowed him to take all the time in the world to decide on his supplies; she paid for everything out of pocket and patiently held Monty’s leash outside the shops he wasn’t allowed in. When they had everything from Draco’s list, she took him gently by the arm.

       “Ready to go?” She asked.

       “I—Nym, I don’t need you to take care of me.”

       “No, but I need to know that you’re okay. This is the best way for me to do that.”

       “Alright,” he said, tucking Gin into his coat. Nym took Monty’s scruff and Draco grabbed hold of his school supplies. When he looked up to take Nym’s free hand, he was shocked to see the faces of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger staring at him from across the street. Their mouths were hanging open and he barely had time to laugh before Nym took hold of him and there was the familiar darkness and swooping feeling of apparation.


	6. The Sighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to school shopping!

       “Mum, I’ll need to refill my potions kit,” Ginny said as she, her mother, Ron, Harry, and Hermione bustled through Diagon Alley.

       “I suppose I will too,” Ron said, peering into the shop windows.

       “Yes, yes, I know,” Mrs. Weasley puffed. “But we need to get your school books first.” They turned in to Flourish and Blott's and Mrs. Weasley pulled out Ginny’s book list.

       “Look at this,” Ron grumbled, examining his own list. “I can’t believe we've volunteered to repeat seventh year.”

       “We’re not really repeating anything,” Hermione pointed out. “We never actually went in the first place.” Ron pulled a face at her and the pair went off to get their books.

       “Ah, here we are,” Mrs. Weasley said proudly, pulling a necessary volume on Magical Creatures off of the second hand shelf.

       “Oh, is there another copy of that?” A woman next to her asked.

       “Here you are,” Mrs. Weasley said genially, handing over a book. “School shopping?”

       “Oh no, I just enjoy the subject,” the other woman laughed. “I won’t have to send my son to school for quite some time.” The other woman was prim looking and much younger than Mrs. Weasley. She was of average height, but thin, and had long, sandy blonde hair that was pulled back in a tight pony tail. She wore a light blue sundress, a white cardigan, and matching shoes: an odd outfit for a witch. All in all, she looked a bit like what one might picture if you had to choose a wife for Percy, complete with horn rimmed glasses.

       “I’m sending the last two through for the final time,” Mrs. Weasley smiled. “It’s their seventh year at Hogwarts.”

       “Twins?” The other woman inquired, coming closer.

       “No, no,” replied Mrs. Weasley. “My son had a bit of a gap year; they’ll be going to Hogwarts, you know. But I do have twins.”

       “I've got two sets in my family,” the blonde woman smiled. “They’re hellishly mischievous, aren't they?”

       “Oh, yours too? Mine were just devils. Absolute devils.”

       “Were?”

       This seemed to catch Mrs. Weasley off guard and her voice caught in her throat. Ginny took her hand.

       “One of them died not long ago,” she explained so her mother didn’t have to. “My older brother Fred. He died defending Hogwarts.”

       “Then he died honorably.”

       “Yes,” Mrs. Weasley sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. “He certainly did. I’m Molly Weasley, by the way.”

       “Certainly not the mother of _the_ Weasleys,” the other woman laughed, shaking her hand. “As in, Charlie the dragon handler? And _Ronald_? What an honor! Your sons are magnificent; all your children are. And you must be Ginny?”

       “I am,” Ginny smiled, also shaking the woman’s hand.

       “And this is of course Mr. Harry Potter.”

       “The same,” Harry smiled. “And you are?”

       “I’m Lidia Gernes.”

       “Professor Lidia Gernes?” Mrs. Weasley gawked.

       “You know her?” Ginny asked.

       “Oh, of course I do,” Mrs. Weasley laughed. “She the American author who wrote _Of Hooves and Heartbeats_ about living with the centaur herd. I cried the whole way through. Such a talent for writing!”

       “Thank you very much,” Mrs. Gernes said, blushing slightly.

       “There’s mommy,” someone said, entering the aisle. It was a woman who was slightly older than Harry. She was bent forward, holding on to the hands of a little boy with bouncy, brown curls. When the little boy caught sight of Mrs. Gernes, he laughed and tottered forward on wobbly legs. Professor Gernes stooped to pick him up and the other woman stood up. She was stunningly beautiful.

       Her long, dark hair was tossed over one shoulder, and she had large, brown doe’s eyes and bright red lips. She was wearing a sleeveless, white sun dress that pinched in at her tiny waist and ended just above her knees. She also had on brown sandals that showed her bright red toe nails. She was impeccably tanned and fit, with a sweet smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

       “Hello,” she said, giving a small wave.

       “This is my sister, Angelique,” Mrs. Gernes said, balancing the boy on her hip. “And this is my son, Xavier. Angie is actually one half of a set of twins.”

       “There’s two of you?” Harry said dopeishly. Ginny did not look pleased and was about to tell him off, but Ron came galumphing into the aisle. He caught sight of Angelique and stopped short, making Hermione crash into his back.

       “Blimey,” he whispered. “Who’re you?”

       “Have you gone mad?” Hermione barked, elbowing him out of the way. “What are you gawking at?”

       “I’m…um…Angelique,” the dark haired woman said, shifting uncomfortably.

       “You sure are.”

       “And now I’ll be leaving,” she said, smiling tightly. “Liddy? Can we go?”

       “I have to pay for this book,” Mrs. Gernes said, indicating the volume in her hand.

       “Then let’s go do that, hm?”

       “Alright, alright. I’m coming.” She turned back to Mrs. Weasley. “It was lovely to meet you.”

       “And you.”

       The professor joined her beautiful sister and they walked toward the counter together. Ginny and Hermione both whapped their respective boyfriends in unison.

       “Ow!” Harry yelped.

       “Gerrofme!” Ron shouted. “What was that for?”

       “You were practically _drooling_ ,” Hermione snapped. “It was pathetic.”

       “Oh, come off it, love. I didn't mean anything by it. It just surprised me is all.”

       “You are unbelievable,” she huffed, turning on her heel and storming out of the shop.

       “Hermione, wait!” He shouted, chasing after her. Harry looked at Ginny warily.

       “Do I need to say it?” She asked.

       “Not at all,” he replied. “And might I just say that you are the most beautiful, wonderful, brilliant woman I have ever and will ever know?”

       “Well put, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley praised. “Now, Ginny, I’ll finish up your books; why don’t you two go over to the apothecary and start collecting things for your potions kit, hm?”

       “Yes, mum,” Ginny said, taking Harry’s hand. They left Mrs. Weasley in Flourish and Blott's and went out into the street. Hermione and Ron were not far off and they could hear them arguing. Harry shook his head, silently wishing Ron luck as Ginny led him to the apothecary. This shop was much quieter and much less crowded than the others.

       “Harry,” Ginny said as they walked through the aisles at the back of the store. “Can you tell me what McGonagall wanted now?”

       “Oh, yes,” Harry said, suddenly remembering. It had been an entire week since he’d told Ginny he would let her in on the secret and he hadn't found time since then. He figured now was as good as any time to say it.

       “Well,” He began. “It’s sort of hard to explain and it’s slightly unbelievable.”

       “Give it a try.”

       “There were these people that, ah, wanted to take Voldemort’s body,” he said, tapping on a peculiar looking jar. “And McGonagall wanted help deciding if they should have it.”

       “Why did they want it?”

       “To bury him.”

       “Why?”

       “Because, er, well…” He looked over at her. “Because they’re his family.”

       “ _What?_ ” She demanded, her eyes wide.

       “Shh, shh!” Harry hissed. “They were his family. He didn't know about them and they wanted to take his body and bury it so no one would know where he was laid to rest.”

       “Well, who were they?” She asked. “What were they like?”

       “Well, the one woman—Elladora—she had his, er, baby,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s English, but her daughter, _his_ daughter, Margaret, was raised in America and so were _her_ children. And listen to this: Margaret is a squib.”

       “A squib? Voldemort’s daughter is a squib?”

       “Yeah,” Harry nodded, glad that she seemed appropriately shocked. “And his grandson, Julian, looks just like he did when he was young.”

       “That’s so bizarre!” Ginny gasped. “What did you decide though?”

       “We let them take it. I mean, it’s not like anyone here wanted it.”

       “I suppose that’s true,” Ginny agreed. “What were the rest of them like? Did you meet anyone else?”

       “Yeah, one other one, Nymeria,” he replied. “She’s an incredibly powerful witch; she’s been working on repairs to the castle.”

       “Oh yes! How does the castle look?”

       “Well, when we were there, there was no roof on the Great Hall, but I’m sure they’ll have it all patched up by the time we go back.”

       “I still can’t believe you’re coming back,” she said, turning back to the potion ingredients. “And that we’ll be in the same year. Do you think many people from your year will return?”

       “I think a fair few might. I don’t know about all of them.”

       “Do you think it will be strange?”

       “I don’t think it’ll be too bad,” Harry sighed. “I mean, sure, it’ll feel strange, but Hogwarts is my home. It’s always been my home.”

       “I don’t know,” Ginny sighed. “I don’t even know if _I’ll_ be able to handle it. Not after everything that happened last year. You weren't there; Hogwarts was very different.”

       “Do you think you’ll finish your seventh year?”

       “I’ll try,” she said. “It’s just that after last year, I don’t know that Hogwarts will feel safe anymore. It didn't then.”

       “You can make it feel safe for everyone else,” Harry said, putting an arm around her and pulling her in. “You’re going to be a prefect. You’ll be brilliant.” The shiny prefect’s badge had been tucked into Ginny’s envelope, making her the fifth Weasley child to earn the title and officially making Fred and George the only Weasley’s that hadn't managed it. Harry had been surprised to find he’d been offered a position to coach the quidditch team. Normally, the captains led the charge, but he figured McGonagall was having to do her best to accommodate returning seventh years.

       “I'm just…I’m glad you’re coming too,” Ginny said, looking up at him. Their faces were very close. “I missed you last year. We all did.”

       “I’ll be there,” he said. “I promise.” He was just leaning down toward her when the door to the shop flew open. Ron and Hermione were panting and as soon as they caught sight of Harry and Ginny, they sprinted over.

       “First off, not in public,” Ron scolded, still breathing very hard. “Second, we just saw Nymeria!”

       “Nymeria?” Harry asked. “Nymeria Hawthorne?”

       “How many other Nymerias do we know? Yes Hawthorne!”

       “Where was she?” Harry demanded. “Why was she here?”

       “We don’t know,” Hermione replied. “We only saw her for a moment, right before she apparated away.”

       “Listen, though, Harry,” Ron said seriously. “She was with Malfoy.”

       “ _What?_ ”

       “I know, we were surprised too, but she apparated away with him,” Hermione explained. “I didn't know he knew her.”

       “Neither did I,” Harry said, scowling.

       “Do you think it would have changed your decision at the castle?” Ginny asked.

       “Oh good, you told her,” Ron praised. “But do you, Harry? Would it have changed your mind? It might’ve changed mine.”

       “I certainly would have asked more questions,” Harry said, his scowl deepening. “I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.”

       “Well, I mean, we did only see her for a second,” Hermione admitted. “Maybe it wasn't her at all.”

       “Well, seeing as she’s nearly twelve feet tall, I’m pretty sure it was her,” Ron countered. “But it might not have been Draco. I mean, it didn’t look quite like him.”

       “Still,” Harry said. “I don’t like it.”

       “Me neither,” Hermione agreed. “There’s something very strange going on.”


	7. The School Year Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco leaves a new home for an old one.

       He woke up warm. Not the kind of warm that comes from a fire or from piling on blankets. In fact, he didn't have anything more than a sheet covering him. No, this heat was the kind that comes from the sun. Buttery light was filtering through sheer curtains which billowed out before the open window. The sweet smell of magnolia blossoms and ripe peaches floated in on the breeze. He lay still in his large, soft bed and shut his eyes, contentedly breathing in the sweet Georgia air. Why he’d ever been reluctant to come here he couldn't imagine.

       A snort near his head made him open his eyes. Monty’s sleeping body was right beside him, also tucked under the sheet, with his massive grey head resting on a pillow while a drool stain fanned out beneath it. Draco smiled at the dog and gently scratched his ears before finally throwing off the blanket and stumbling out of bed.

       He’d been living with his cousin Nymeria for a few weeks and already all of him was feeling better. He hadn't had his nightmare once while he was there, and all the sleep he was getting meant his mood was better and his body was healthier. Nym’s husband, Wil, was an excellent chef, and the home cooked meals were doing Draco a world of good. He hadn't felt quite this healthy in a very long time.

       As he went to his bureau to dress, he caught his reflection in a mirror hung on the wall. He even looked better. His face had color, his eyes were brighter, and his hair had returned to its gleaming platinum blonde. He wasn't so drawn in and he had some meat to him again. He’d even managed a slight tan in the warm southern sun. As he glanced back at the bed, he noticed Monty was looking better too. And Gin, where ever she’d wandered off to, was hardly recognizable. She was a normal weight, all of her mats had been brushed out, and she’d gotten a bath. It turns out, she wasn't clay colored at all, but actually a creamy tan.

       “Knock, knock,” said a familiar voice from outside his door.

       “Come in,” Draco called back, pulling on his tee shirt.

       “Good morning, fine sir. Are you hungry?” Wil said, opening the door and grinning at Draco. “Hungry for education?”

       “What?”

       “I made you a pre-trip feast.”

       “Pre-trip? Where are we going?”

       “Um…London,” Wil laughed. “So you can go back to school.”

       “Today?” Draco gawked. “I thought that was a while off yet.”

       “Well, unfortunately, it is today. Have you packed yet?”

       “No, I haven’t,” he mumbled. “I completely forgot.”

       “Don’t worry about it,” he shrugged. “One of the elves would gladly do it for you, I’m sure. Now come along. Mr. Penceworth’s famous omelets are waiting for us in the kitchen.”

       The pair walked together through the massive house until they reached the kitchen where the table was already set and there was a huge, frilly centerpiece done up in Slytherin colors that said “Good Luck Draco!”

       “You really went all out.”

       “Yeah, well, I thought you would be excited to go,” Wil laughed. “The effect is pretty much lost, I think. Particularly because you didn't even _remember_ it was today.”

       “No, no, it’s very nice,” Draco smiled. “Thank you.” Wil served the omelets with bacon, potatoes, toast, and homemade peach jam. There was usually something at every meal with peaches in it: a jam, a marinade, a vinaigrette, a pie, a salad. There was always a bowl of the sweet fruit sitting in the kitchen. The house Wil had inherited had a peach orchard, and, when that happens, you eat a lot of peaches and so do your house guests.

       When Draco had first came to the house, he’d found it charming. It was once a huge plantation; most of the land had been sold off years ago, though the house still sat on a sizable plot. The house and the plot were smaller than his manor house back in England, but when he stood outside, it felt positively massive. There were no oppressive iron fences, no isolating hedges, no dreary petrified trees. The grass here was bright green. Draco had never noticed before, but his grass was rather dark. But perhaps it was actually the same color, but the clouds never parted in England to let him see it. The sun was always in abundance here.

       Initially, Draco was irritated by the sun and its heat. He’d stay inside where it was cooler, still sweating through his heavy clothes. Then one day, Nym asked him to walk with her through the orchard. When he came out of his room, she laughed at him and sent him back in to redress. It was then that he learned that a button down with the sleeves rolled up is actually quite airy, and that if you give Nym old pants, she can re-hem them into a sharp looking pair of Bermuda shorts. He adapted to that style of dress rather quickly, and to another facet of it: Here in Georgia, on Wil and Nym’s land, the grass was soft, the dirt was soft; even the gravel drive was easy on the feet. For the entire time he was there, Draco hardly ever wore shoes.

       He remembered when he was younger and he had tried to go outside without shoes on. His father had shoved him back into the house and called him a barbarian, saying only muggles were so filthy as to go outside without shoes. But being outside without shoes didn't feel filthy. In fact, it felt rather clean. Draco had never felt so clean in his entire life.

       As they ate breakfast, Monty came thumping down the stairs to look for his boy. The dog had become much more attached to him as of late. He laid happily beside Draco’s chair and was snoring again in moments. Nym and Wil had dogs as well. When Draco went back to school, Monty would stay here with them.

       “So,” Wil said. “Are you ready to go back to school now?”

       “Yes and no,” Draco replied thoughtfully. “I like it here quite a lot, but it’ll be nice to actually have something to do again.”

       “I know that feeling,” Wil laughed. “I used to get so bored over summer.”

       “When did you finish school?”

       “Oh, I finished a while ago,” Wil laughed. “I miss it sometimes. I wish I got the chance you have: to go back.”

       “What would you do if you could go back?”

       “I would take more classes,” Wil smiled. “Strange classes; things I would never have taken while I was there, just to see what they’re like.”

       “Like what?”

       “Well, like advanced lunar charting. I never saw any use for it, but if I could, I would see what it was all about. What will you do when you go back?”

       “Try again, I suppose,” Draco shrugged. “Maybe I’ll take something strange as well. Lunar charting could be extremely helpful, actually.”

       “You already have the self-adjusting chart Nym made you. I would recommend muggle studies,” Wil said evenly. “It’s more valuable than you’d think.” Draco did not respond to this, but he didn't really need to. Wil knew his aversion to muggles and his plugs for muggle studies were harmless. At the school Wil had attended—and that Nym was currently at—muggle studies were more highly stressed than at Hogwarts.

       The pair finished breakfast and, due to Wil’s expertly loaded questions, Draco was actually excited to go back to school by the time the meal was over. They cleared away the dishes and dragged Monty outside for a quick walk. Wil’s own pack of dogs came bounding out of the orchard when they saw them, all nosing furiously at their hands to be pet.

       “Settle, settle!” Will laughed, scratching as many ears as he could reach. Draco chuckled and put both hands on either side of Monty’s face, rubbing his cheeks gently. Monty was the most mild mannered out of the bunch here, except for maybe Butterbean the bulldog, who got winded changing positions in his sleep. Draco liked Butterbean because he had only one eye, like Gin. He crouched down and lured the chubby bulldog to him and Monty licked its wrinkled face; Monty was quite fond of Butterbean as well.

       “Let’s bring all these pups inside. We have to get going,” Wil said, looking at his watch. “Are your bags packed?”

       “Um, well—,” Draco began, as they led the dogs back into the kitchen, but he was cut off by a very loud crack. Two house elves had apparated into the kitchen, one was wrestling with his trunk and balancing an empty cat crate on his head. The other was wearing his knapsack and had his broom in one hand and was holding Gin by her tail with the other.

       “Yes, I’m packed,” he laughed.

       “We couldn't get Miss Ginsy to go in her box,” the struggling house elf explained. He was fairly covered in scratches and it looked like he’d given it quite a fight. Draco stooped down and picked up the hissing, spitting animal and she burrowed into his arms, looking thoroughly offended.

       “Thank you for trying,” he said. “We can leave her out though.”

       “Come here, those scratches look pretty bad,” Will sighed, taking out his wand. The elf obliged and Wil began closing the marks; Draco sometimes forgot that Wil was an accomplished healer. He had the elf patched in no time and took the bag and trunk and loaded them into the car.

       “Do you want to bring Mont?” Wil asked, closing the boot. “He can come and see you off.”

       “Yeah,” Draco smiled. “I’d like that.”

       “I’ll go get him.” Wil jogged into the house and came back just a moment later, Monty happily plodding along beside him on the end of a leash. They all piled into the car and were off in no time. The dashboard had some sort of device that Nym had made that allowed the vehicle to apparate, in a manner of speaking. Draco wasn't really sure how the thing worked, but it had them driving down the streets of London in no time. They parked outside of King’s Cross station and hurried inside to the platform.

       “Wow,” Wil said, looking at the red steam engine. “Nice train.”

       “Yeah, it’s very nice,” Draco laughed. “And it’s almost time for it to leave.”

       “Better get on then,” Wil smiled. He opened his arms and gave Draco a firm hug before handing his trunk to the man at the luggage car. Draco knelt down to be eye level with Monty, who finally seemed to realize that something was going on. The dog nuzzled under his chin and whined.

       “I’ll see you later,” Draco murmured, patting the beast’s side. Gin, too, rubbed against the dog in farewell before Draco scooped her up and got onto the train. He found an empty car and peered out the window. He could see Wil standing there, stance wide and hands in pockets—utterly relaxed—and Monty pacing at the end of his leash. Wil saw him in the window and waved; Draco smiled and waved back.

       “Can I sit in here?” Someone asked. The blonde boy turned around to see none other than Gregory Goyle staring at him.

       “Of course you can sit here!” He laughed, embracing the larger boy. “I haven’t seen you all summer. How have you been?”

       “Not bad,” Goyle laughed, collapsing on to a seat with a sigh. Draco sat down opposite him and Gin leapt into his lap.

       “Nice cat. What happened to its leg?”

       “I’m not sure,” Draco said, rubbing the empty shoulder. “She’s missing an eye as well.”

       “Tough break. She kind of looks like how we all feel after last year.”

       Draco was struck by the singular elegance of that statement. He _did_ feel a bit like Gin looked; like he was learning to function with vital parts missing.

       “What did you do over the summer,” Goyle asked as the train gave a shudder. It was time to leave.

       “I stayed with a cousin in Georgia,” Draco replied, looking back out at Wil, who was now cradling Monty in his arms; the dog was utterly distraught.

       “The country?”

       “No, the state. In America.”

       “Oh, I didn't know you had a cousin out there,” Goyle smiled. “Sorry.”

       “No, not at all. What did you do?”

       “I traveled. I thought about staying home, but my dad is in Azkaban and my mum is still being processed; she won’t get out for ages. I couldn't stand staying at home by myself, so I just packed a bag and left. I went all over: Ireland, France, Spain, Germany. You name it.”

       “Wow,” Draco marveled. “Where was your favorite place?”

       “Rome,” Goyle smiled. “I dunno why. I just loved it.”

       Draco was about to say something, but their compartment door slid open and he was shocked to see Ginny Weasley standing there, a prefect’s badge glinting on her chest.

       “Can we help you?” He asked. It was probably the first time he’d ever said something like that to her without a sneer in his voice.

       “The train is over packed,” she sighed. “We can’t have just two people taking up a whole compartment. Would you like to find another or do you mind sharing?”

       “No, we can share,” Goyle replied. He got up and sat beside Draco, gesturing at the now empty bench.

       “Thank you,” Ginny said. “Thank you for not fighting with me.” She went back out into the corridor and, a moment later, two tiny first years stumbled through the door. They looked nervous, and were even more so when they saw the older boys. One was clutching his owl’s cage so hard his hands had turned white.

       “That’s a nice bird,” Draco said. The boy looked down at it and smiled slightly.

       “Thanks,” he squeaked. “My mummy got it for me as a present.” The other boy said nothing, but they both sat down. The train pulled away from the station—Monty started howling—and they were soon rolling through the country side. Goyle fell asleep and Draco stared out the window, though he was simply watching the first years in their reflection in the glass. They had calmed down a bit and now were speaking to one another. They were sharing what their biggest hopes were for Hogwarts and swapping stories of how excited they were to get their letters. When the woman with the trolley came, Draco bought them a few sweets, as well as a couple pumpkin pasties for Goyle when he woke up.

       He didn't know either of the boys, but he was fond of them. He knew exactly why as well: he was seeing his own first year train ride acted out in front of him. He and Goyle had sat together, much like they were now, excitedly chattering about utter nonsense. They had both been so thrilled with the idea of going to school. He thought about how things had changed. He was still excited to be returning, but he was far from the same person as the eleven year old that had ridden the train seven years ago.

       As they neared the school, Draco woke Goyle and they changed into their robes. The first years did the same, following their lead. As they pulled in to Hogsmead station, Draco felt the need to say something.

       “Good luck at the sorting,” he smiled. “We’ll be at the Slytherin table; hope to see you there.” He and Goyle got off the train and headed for the carriages. They could hear the half-giant bellowing in the distance.

       “Firs’ years! Firs’ years with me!”

       Draco and Goyle found a carriage with two sixth year girls from their house. As they settled in, Goyle leaned over to his friend.

       “I can see the horse things,” he whispered.

       “Me too.”

       Draco had tried very hard not to be startled when he’d seen the thestrals for the first time. He was comforted, though, that many people in the carriages seemed to be whispering about the bat winged beasts. He wasn't the only one that had seen death. Up ahead, though, the people in the carriages were falling silent.

       “What’s going on up there?” One of the girls asked.

       “I dunno,” Goyle said, craning his neck. “I s’pose we’ll see when we get there.”

       They were inching up on the place where everyone had stopped talking and, all too soon, they understood why they had. The carriage rolled past a thick hedge to show a large expanse of land that had once been just part of the lawn. Now, dotting its surface in neat rows, sat a field of white tombstones.

       “Oh,” one girl gasped, covering her mouth. “Oh, no.”

       Draco squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look at all the graves. He felt Goyle’s hand on his shoulder and their carriage joined the majority, rolling the rest of the way to the castle in complete silence. As they got out of the carriage and filtered into the Great Hall, there was still some of the same somberness as outside, but more people had cajoled themselves into talking and laughing as normal. Draco and Goyle went to their house’s table and suddenly found they didn't know where to sit.

       “It’s just us, innit?” Goyle sighed. He was right. Judging from the looks of things, they were the only two Slytherins of their year to have returned. The rest of the people in their house were greeting friends and slapping backs. He and Goyle simply settled down across from one another at the very back end of the table. Goyle sighed and rested his face in his hands.

       “This is how it’s going to be,” he muttered. “This is how the whole year is going to be.”

       Draco wanted to protest, but he couldn't deny that he was feeling much the same way. He was comforted, at least, by what he could see just past Goyle’s shoulder: Potter, Weasley, and Granger were all at the back end of the Gryffindor table, looking just as tense as he was. They didn't notice him staring, but he watched them as they squirmed uncomfortably and then finally left the room. For some reason, this made him smile, as though he’d somehow beaten them. As though his ability to withstand discomfort was greater than theirs and so he’d won some victory. It was the worst victory he could think to win.


	8. The Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hathorns pay another visit, this time with friends.

      They stared around at everyone in the Great Hall and Harry started to feel strange, like there was a rock at the pit of his stomach. He was looking at all the faces of his class mates and he felt a very strong ache in his chest when he couldn't find one. He knew it could just be that they didn't want to come back; he kept telling himself that over and over again. Still, though, he couldn't shake the feeling that all of them had been there the entire time, just outside in the cemetery.

       “I can’t stay here,” he whispered. Hermione took his hand and Ron nodded. Judging from their faces, they were feeling much the same. “Let’s go before the sorting starts.” They got up as inconspicuously as they could and headed for the huge doors as students passed them in the opposite direction.

       “That was bloody awful,” Ron breathed, once they were safely in the hall.

       “I didn't think it would be so hard,” Hermione said, looking as though she might cry. “Maybe it will get easier once classes start, but right now, it’s just…too much.”

       “I know,” Harry agreed. “Shall we just walk around? Maybe we can go back in later. Maybe it’ll be better when everyone is sitting down.”

       “Yeah, let’s walk around,” Ron nodded, putting an arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “It’ll take our minds off it.”

       They wound their way around the first floor, making a full loop around the courtyard. No one said anything for a long time, but eventually, Ron broke the silence.

       “All the teachers looked rather dressed up, didn't they?” He and Hermione were now holding hands, and Harry found this easier to look at.

       “Don’t they always dress up for the first night?” Harry asked.

       “They do, but Ron’s right. They were all in proper dress robes,” Hermione said, furrowing her brow. “Do you suppose it’s just out of…you know…respect?”

       “Maybe,” Harry shrugged. “D’you suppose we ought to have dressed up too?”

       “Yeah,” Ron snorted. “Nothing would honor our friends more than me in my dress robes.” Harry actually laughed, remembering his friend’s hideous, lacy catastrophe.

       “What is that?” Hermione said suddenly, looking down a hall. “Do you hear that?” Harry listened and he did. There was music playing in one of the classrooms and the door was open just a bit, so that a sliver of light spilled across the floor.

       “Let’s go,” Ron said, pulling Hermione with him. Harry jogged behind and they all peered in through the gap.

       There was a group of students inside the room, but none that they recognized. They all had on uniforms that were clearly not from Hogwarts. Their outfits were made up of crisp, white button down shirts and black trousers for the boys or black pleated skirts that hung to the knee for the girls. The girls also hand on white knee high socks with gold stripes at the top and shiny black heeled shoes. On top of these uniforms, all of them had on black robes that seemed designed to hang open in the front, rather than cover everything like the Hogwarts robes did. Emblazoned on all of the chests of their robes and shirts were small crests of gold shields with large powder blue B’s outlined in black. Thorny, black vines seemed to grow around the shields.

      The music playing was some rock band that Harry didn't know, but all of the students certainly seemed to. Some were singing along, but most were scattered around the room, chatting. There was a group circled around a desk playing cards and a few clusters of girls giggling excitedly. On the far side of the room, a boy was standing on a large stack of books on the teacher’s desk attempting to pry something off the ceiling.

       “Get it! Get it, Wrigley!” A girl hissed at him. She was standing on the floor with another girl and they were both holding the boy’s legs to keep him steady. The taller of the two was laughing, but the short one was still snarling at the boy.

       “I swear to god, Wrigley, if Grewall comes in and sees it I will pin this whole thing on you,” she threatened.

       “Thanks, Pep, just the encouragement I needed,” he grumbled. “If they didn't insist on taking our damn wands before the exhibition, this would be so much easier!”

       “It’s a knarl, not chewing gum; you can’t just pry it off. You have to tickle it,” the tall girl instructed. “Rub your finger on its belly.”

       “I’m not going to tickle it!” He laughed. “Why don’t you do it, if you’re such an expert, hm?”

       “She’s wearing a skirt,” the short girl snapped. “Now rub its belly!” The boy sighed dramatically, but turned back to the terrified hedgehog-looking creature on the ceiling and wriggled a finger underneath it. After a few seconds, it squealed, released its grip, and fell into the waiting hands of the short girl on the floor.

       “Potter, Weasley, Granger!” A very familiar voice barked. They all turned to see Professor McGonagall bearing down upon them “To the Great Hall if you please,” she snapped, pointing behind her.

       “Professor, what’s going on?” Harry asked.

       “You’ve already missed the first sorting of my career as headmistress, do not test me! Great Hall. Now.” They walked past her without arguing and heard her enter the room with the strange students. The trio ran to Gryffindor table, reclaiming their seats all the way at the back.

      

       “What was all that?” Harry asked as they sat down. “Who were all those people?”

       “Well, they’re obviously from another wizarding school,” Hermione said hurriedly, “The thing they were pulling off the ceiling was a knarl. But that music… It was definitely muggle.”

       “Well, then it can’t be a very good school, can it?” Ron snorted. “Good magic schools are supposed to keep your attention on our world, aren't they?” They continued to discuss the strangers through the meal until the dishes before them were wiped magically clean before dessert. Just as general chatter began to die down, McGonagall cleared her throat. She was at the front of the room, behind the old headmaster’s podium. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been so busy talking they hadn't noticed her come in.

       “Dessert will be postponed a moment,” she announced, “in honor of our guests.” This sent low murmurs through the room, which McGonagall silenced with a wave of her hand. “In these times, it is very important to form bonds with wizards outside of what we know,” she continued. “Outside of our borders; outside, even, of our half of the world. With that, I give you Professor Blanche Grewall.” She stepped down and politely confused applause welcomed a pretty, middle aged witch to the front of the hall. She had on magnificent golden robes with the same crest that the strange students had worn. She gave the hall a warm smile that, combined with her heart shaped face and shiny blonde curls, gave her an almost angelic look.

       “As your headmistress said,” she called out in a surprisingly loud voice. “I am Professor Grewall, head of the charms division at my school, and my students and I have come here all the way from the United States to visit you.” As she said this, the same students they had seen earlier filed in from the entrance to the hall, no longer laughing and joking as they had been, but looking serious and rather intimidating.

       “We’re from the American wizarding school Blackhearth Academy of Magic. We are a school for the exceptionally gifted, as you may or may not know. The students I have brought with me are all fifth year and above. Fifth year for us, though, does not mean the same thing it does here. At our school, fifth years will take their N.E.W.T.S just as your seventh years will; after fifth year, our students work on advanced studies until their seventh year, and then specialization and control for four years after that.”

       “Eleven years of school?” Ron mouthed, looking mortified.

       “Of course, we don’t really assign our students class levels, though,” Professor Grewall said, her audience now entirely perplexed. “We have years, but not certain classes for certain age groups. If a fourth year is advanced to that point, they may choose to take a seventh year course. Our system is very, very different from yours, but so are our students. I think a small demonstration will emphasize this point.”

       The group of students, which counted out to fifteen, had assembled before her. Now, they all turned and scattered in every direction, except for one tall girl that stood on the tips of her toes, arms extended straight above her head. Everyone watched as she crouched and then sprang up in a spectacular leap, going much higher than any normal person could. As she began to arch back down toward the ground, her body changed smoothly, as though melting, into the long, sleek form of a giant black serpent. However, the tail of the serpent didn't taper to a point, but rather bulged out again into shoulders and huge, powerful wings. She was changing into a dragon!

       Her feet hit the ground with no noise other than slight click of long, menacing talons. She reared her head back, peering down at them with brilliant purple eyes, and flared out enormous bat like wings, the tips of which touched the upper corners on both sides of the great hall. She held this pose, her slitted pupils narrowing, until the students recovered from shock and leapt to their feet in uproarious applause. She nodded her head graciously and folded her wings in, falling back on her haunches in a sitting position rather like that of a cat. She even curled her long, arrow tipped tail around her feet.

      Then, out of nowhere, the students that had scattered all sent bright jets of light straight at the dragon girl. She closed her eyes and blew a puff of smoke as all the curses glanced off her chest, ricocheting harmlessly away, not leaving so much as a scratch on her gleaming black scales. More applause followed this, and the girl melted back down to her normal form. She still had her eyes shut and again, all her classmates fired curses straight at her heart. When Harry was sure they would all strike her, she whipped out her wand and yelled, “Protego!”

       The force of the explosion that followed was such that all the windows shattered outwards and everyone that had tried to curse her was sent flying in every direction with momentum that Harry could have never caused, even with his best spell. She stowed her wand back into the pocket of her robe and bowed slightly. The students leapt up again, cheering and screaming like never before. The girl tucked her short, dark hair behind her ear and Harry was struck with the feeling that he’d seen her before, but she was too far away for him to be sure.

       “Dear god,” Ron laughed to him, still clapping with everyone else. “When she said they were gifted I figured she’d be good, but I had no idea she’d be that good! She could have given Dumbledore a run for his money.” Harry nodded in awe. The other Blackhearth students, now strewn around the room, began to come to and the tall girl turned back to the staff table. As she went, she took her wand out, waved it wordlessly around her head and all the windows leapt back into place, good as new.

       “So!” Professor Grewall called, finally hushing the crowd back down. “Now that we’re all officially awake, let me explain a few things to you. That was Nymeria Hawthorne-Penceworth and she is completing her eleventh year at Blackhearth. Nothing that she did, though, was new magic to her. Nym became an animagus in her fourth year and has been performing spells of that ferocity since her first. She sat her O.W.L.s in her second year and her N.E.W.T.S. in her third, so even though she is only four years older than you seventh years, she’s got eight more years of advance training than you do.

       “Now, I’m sure you must all be wondering what we’re doing here!” She laughed. The rest of the hall chuckled and a few people nodded their heads sheepishly. Professor Grewall smiled understandingly and waved her hands for silence. “We have come,” she announced, “to meet the only other school—the only other students—that have done what Blackhearth has done for centuries. Last year, when your school fell under attack, you rose beautifully to the occasion and protected it. Aside from us, no other schools allow that. Our students very much wanted to come and meet all of you and trade experiences.”

       “Yes,” agreed McGonagall, rising once more. “And we have accepted their request. The students from Blackhearth will spend three days here, at which point they will collect fifteen of our own seventh years and take them back with them. After three days at Blackhearth, our students will return and an open Floo channel will be established between our schools. Any students from either school may come and go as they please.”

      Excited murmurs flew through the great hall.

       “Please,” McGonagall said loudly, holding up her hands for silence. “There is one more announcement regarding the Blackhearth Academy. Professor Grewall?”

       “Though we’re very pleased to be able to visit you here at Hogwarts and for you to visit us in return, we are taking this a step further. At Blackhearth, we strive to keep every student working at the very limit of their abilities; if a student comes along with abilities exceeding our current programs, we change for them. We are here at Hogwarts to make a change.

       “Nymeria Hawthorne, as you saw, is an exceptional witch. Not only does she have eight more years of training than your seventh years, six of those years have been work experience. She became an Auror—a full-fledged, paid, and deployed Auror—at seventeen years old. She was the department’s top Auror by eighteen and has been promoted to a new position, working closely with the American Minister of Magic himself. She knows how to fight; she has yet to lose a wizard’s duel. She won even her very first, which was against me in her second year. She knows what it is to fight, but she is also a constant student. Nymeria is very advanced in both abilities and her studies, and we would like her to share what she has learned. She has accepted the unique challenge of becoming a temporary professor. After the week of student-interchange and one additional week after that, her classes will begin. Only those she deems eligible may decide to take the course. You should also know that this class will include elements from Blackhearth so take your visits to our school seriously as they will give you an idea of what to expect. With no further ado, I would like to introduce you to Professor Nymeria Hawthorne-Penceworth. We hope you are as proud to have her as we are to give her to you.”

      Professor Grewall produced from within her golden robes a large black parcel and handed it to Nym who unfolded it to reveal a heavy velvet robe of the same gold color, emblazoned with the Blackhearth crest. Nym slid it on and, though it dwarfed her slender frame to an extreme, she looked very regal. She shook both Grewall’s and McGonagall’s hands while the room applauded. After a moment, Nym held up her hands, asking for quiet. The room went silent almost immediately as all the Hogwarts students eagerly awaited any words that might fall from her mouth.

       “I’m honored to have been offered the chance to teach here at Hogwarts,” she said, smiling slightly. “I’m anxious to get started. As Professor Grewall said, only students that I deem eligible will be able to participate in the lessons. Eligibility will be decided through an analysis of your application. Anyone that would like to may fill out the application; you simply need to come to me and request it. Please be serious about applying. The difficulty level of the class will be exceptional, but so will the students that finish it. The applications will contain a more in depth description and I will have them ready for you after you return from Blackhearth. Thank you.”

       The hall applauded again, now nearly electric after Nym’s announcement. She had issued a challenge and everyone was keen to take a stab at it.

       “Now, everyone,” McGonagall said loudly, calming the students once again, “please enjoy your pudding!”

      The applause that followed this statement was positively enormous and many students laughed as the plates before them refilled once again. Ron was delighted. Everyone was so busy talking that they almost missed the announcement that prefects would be leading the Blackhearth students on a tour.

       “Ginny’s first job,” Harry grinned.

       “No, she said she had to make Malfoy share his compartment with some first years on the train,” Hermione said.

       “I bet she loved doing that,” Ron laughed. “D’you suppose Luna will be a good prefect?”

       “I think she’ll…be a prefect,” Harry said, smiling again. “With Luna, it’s anyone’s guess how it’ll turn out.”

       “Oh,” Hermione said, looking around. “It looks like the Blackhearth students get to join us for dessert.”

       “There’s Nym’s brother,” Ron said, pointing him out. “Shall we invite him over?” They all waved for Julian’s attention and he saw them. He grinned, waggled his fingers at them and winked. The light haired man from the classroom and the girl with the knarl approached Julian and pointed at the Slytherin table, seeming to ask a question. He nodded and they started to move, taking a blond witch with them. Julian waved at Harry, Ron, and Hermione one more time before he followed them as well, going to sit with none other than Draco Malfoy.

       “Nym knows him,” Hermione said. “Ron and I told you we saw them leaving Diagon Alley together, remember?”

       “Yeah, I remember,” Harry mumbled, staring over his shoulder at the blonde boy.

       “How d’you suppose he met them?” Ron asked.

       “Well, they’re Voldemort’s grandkids, aren't they?” Harry said, turning back to his friend. “And he used to be a Death Eater.”

       “But Voldemort didn't know about them,” Hermione protested.

       “Says Elladora Blooming, who showed up out of nowhere one day to collect the body of the most dangerous dark wizard of our time. Now, suddenly, her grandkids are here getting chummy with the Slytherins—with the Malfoys. It’s just suspicious.”

       “Harry, you’re reading too much into it,” Hermione warned.

       “I dunno, love,” Ron said, rubbing the back of his neck. “He has a point. It’s odd.”

       “Alright, it’s odd, but that doesn't mean we should go jumping to conclusions.”

       “We won’t,” Harry said, looking up at the faculty table where Nym was now seated. “But we should still keep an eye on things.”


	9. Ignisaque and Arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian Hawthorne proves his family is even more complex than Harry had assumed.

       The next morning at breakfast, Nym’s seat was vacant at the faculty table. It seemed her permanent spot would be between McGonagall and the new Defense against the Dark Arts professor, Fabian Lovett. He was a relatively young man, well into his thirties, and reasonably handsome. Most of the girls were all a titter at the idea of having a class taught by him; the reaction reminded Harry of when Gilderoy Lockhart taught at Hogwarts, though Professor Lovett seemed much less flashy and much more humble.

       Due to the already cramped arrangements in the castle, the Blackhearth students had not stayed the night, but were filtering through the fireplace as the Hogwarts students ate. Harry noticed that again, Julian and his friends were sitting with Draco.

       “What’ve you got today?” Ron asked as they sat down.

       “I've got everything the same as you,” Harry laughed. “I checked last night.”

       “Wicked,” Ron grinned, taking out his schedule. “Today, we just have Charms, Potions, and…hang on, why’s there this gap here?” He showed it to Hermione who shrugged and looked at Ginny.

       “Well, I don’t know for certain,” Ginny said. “But Luna and I, and a few other prefects, are pretty sure that’s due to Professor Hawthorne’s class. If you get in, that class will go in that period. If not, you have to pick either Care of Magical Creatures or Divination.”

       “What do we do in the meantime?”

       “It’s just a free period.”

       “Wicked,” Ron repeated. He piled his plate up with eggs and sausages while Hermione perused her own schedule.

       “Ginny,” she said, looking across the table. “Do you know what the Blackhearth students will be doing today?”

       “They’re just going to be sitting in on a few classes.”

       “I like having a prefect for a girlfriend,” Harry laughed. “You know everything.”

       “Not everything!” She laughed. “Just the majority.”

       “Where are you going today?” Ron asked through a mouthful of eggs, peeking at Hermione’s schedule. His face dropped immediately.

       “What’s wrong?” Harry asked.

       “Harry,” Ron said, sounding stricken. “Hermione’s not in potions with us. She’s not even taking it.”

       “No potions?”

       “No, she’s dumped it for Herbology.”

       “I've also got all your other classes plus three more, so I hardly think you should feel too put upon by your work load.”

       “I’m in your potions,” Ginny smiled. “Maybe I can help.”

       “There,” Hermione sighed. “Ginny will help you.”

       “Well, no offense, but she’s no Hermione,” Ron said, shaking his head. It struck Harry then that Ron was not speaking about Hermione as his girlfriend, but as the same Hermione that had helped them pass potions six years running.

       “It’s nearly time to go anyway,” Hermione sighed, getting to her feet. “I have to run to the greenhouses. If I hurry, I can walk with Neville. See you all later!” She waved as she bustled out of the room and the others gathered their things.

       “Why isn't Hermione in Charms with us?” Ginny asked. “Isn't she taking it?”

       “She is, but I think she’s got to sit in with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, since she can’t make ours.”

       “So that means that we've got Charms with the Slytherins,” Harry sighed. “Brilliant.”

       “Oh come on, I’m sure it won’t be…completely…awful. I mean, it _could_ be worse than it _will_ be. Right?” Ginny’s failed attempt to rally the troops was utterly wasted. Harry didn't think it was possible to have a charms lesson that was _worse_ than their first one.

       The other seventh years were almost all already sitting in Flitwick’s classroom when Harry, Ron, and Ginny walked into class. As soon as they passed through the door, all of the Gryffindor students got to their feet in a sort of silent salute. All of the Slytherins stared straight ahead, acting like nothing was going on.

       “Bloody hell,” Harry whispered, shoving his way to an empty desk at the back. “Sit down, _sit down_!”

       Everyone reluctantly seated themselves, evidently not finished with their overt display of loyalty, but not wanting to offend their idol. Harry spent the rest of class staring hard at his notes, not allowing himself to make eye contact with anyone. The only time he did glance up, he noticed two things: Draco Malfoy and Gregory Goyle were in this class and were in positions very similar to his own and some girl from Ginny’s year was openly staring at him. He was unsure how long the staring had been going on and quickly went back to his notes.

       “This is going to be a great year,” Ron muttered.

       “It’ll get better,” Ginny hissed. “It has to.”

       The period couldn't have ended soon enough and Harry, Ron, and Ginny were half way to potions before the rest of the class had even left the room.

       “I never thought I would look forward to going to the dungeons,” Ron laughed. “But I honestly am. I don’t think I've ever felt more out of place in a class room in my entire life.”

       “Do you think it was just because we were with the Slytherins?” Ginny asked. “I mean, Potions is with Hufflepuff; how bad can that be?”

       “It can’t be any worse,” Harry sighed. “I honestly don’t see how it _could_ be any worse.”

       They rounded the corner and almost ran right in to a blonde witch.

       “Sorry,” she muttered, pushing past. She was already gone before Harry realized she’d been wearing a Blackhearth uniform. Charms had been so awful that he’d nearly forgotten they were in the school. He turned back to the door to the class room to see a very irritated looking Julian Hawthorne.

       “Hello,” he said. Julian’s scowl vanished immediately.

       “Oh, hey Harry,” he smiled. “Hello Ron. Who’s this?”

       “Oh, this is Ginny Weasley,” Harry said, making introductions. “Ginny, this is Julian Hawthorne, Nymeria’s younger brother.”

       “She prefers Nym, you know,” he said. “All this ‘Nymeria’ stuff is getting under her skin. Anyway, have you got potions now?”

       “Yeah,” Ron nodded. “Why?”

       “I’m supposed to sit in on it. Well, my sister Tempest and I were both supposed to sit in on it but, as you saw, she has decided against it.”

       “That was your sister just then?” Harry asked. “But she’s blonde.”

       “So was the other one you met.”

       “I—what? What other one?”

       “Lidia,” Julian laughed, following them into the empty class room. “She said she and Angie met you in Diagon Alley a few weeks ago.”

       “Wait, wait,” Ginny laughed. “You mean Lidia Gernes, my mother’s favorite author, is your older sister?”

       “And so is Angelique?” Ron asked, his eyes slightly glazed at the memory of her. “That perfect human being is related to you?”

       “That’s a very strange thing to say to someone,” Julian said, smiling in spite of himself. “That their sister is a perfect human being. Did you know your sister is perfectly proportioned?”

       “What?” Ron demanded, snapping out of his daze. “Don’t look at my sister. She’s taken.”

       “ _Ron_ , he was making a joke,” Ginny groaned, turning a little pink. “But I didn't know those were your sisters. They don’t look much like you. I mean, Angelique does a bit, I suppose, but not the blonde ones.”

       “Lidia and Tempest take after our father,” Julian explained. “So does my older brother Gabriel.”

       “How many of you are there?” Ron gawked. “This sounds like our family.”

       “We've got six, what have you got?”

       “Six now,” Ginny admitted. “But it was seven with Fred.”

       “Lidia mentioned that; the twins.” Julian now looked very pensive. He was also just standing near the table the trio had claimed.

       “You can sit with us, if you’d like,” Harry offered. Julian sat down absentmindedly. The rest of the class was filing in now, and they seemed much more calm about Harry’s presence than in Charms class.

       “What’s wrong?” Ginny asked.

       “It’s just hard to think about losing a twin,” Julian sighed. “I mean, I don’t know what I would do if I lost Tempy.”

       “Tempest is your twin?” Harry asked.

       “Yeah. Angelique was pretty affected by the idea too, since she and Nym are a pair.”

       “ _What_?”

       “You all act so shocked,” he chuckled. “Fraternal twins aren't that strange.”

       “I just can’t picture Nymeria and Angelique as twins,” Ron admitted. “What were all your sisters doing in Diagon Alley anyway? Don’t you all live in America?”

       “Nym brought Ange and Liddy along to get Draco. She thought it would take longer to find him than it did.” This made Harry’s ears perk up. He could finally ask Julian how his family knew Draco and how much the Malfoys knew about them, but before he could say anything, Professor Slughorn called the class to attention. As far as Harry knew, Slughorn would be quitting after this year, but he was happy to help until a replacement could be found.

       “Hello everyone,” he beamed. “Welcome, welcome. I’m glad to see all of you in good health. As most of you are aware last year we had some, ah, educational inconsistencies.” He clasped his hands around his giant belly and looked sympathetically around the room. “I am deeply sorry to all of you and also greatly indebted. Today, though, we begin our journey to making our first marks on our clean slates both well informed and well executed. We shall spend today working on small projects. Everyone is to open their potion books and find a potion that exemplifies the extent of your abilities. That is to say, find the hardest potion you think you can do. Once you have found it, brew it. This is just a test to show me where you are at skillwise.

       “Additionally, today, we have in our midst two students from the Blackhearth Academy of Magic.”

       “Just one,” Julian said, giving a small wave. As everyone turned to look at him, Harry could hear a few girls start to whisper excitedly. Julian turned a bit pink at the flattery.

       “Ah, just the one then,” Slughorn corrected. “This is young Mr. Julian Hawthorne. He is a seventh year, like yourselves, and he is proficient in potions, if I am to understand things correctly.”

       “Yes professor.”

       “He is here to aid the lucky group that is first to welcome him, so unfortunately for the rest of you, today, Mr. Hawthorne is an off-limits resource. Perhaps in our next class, another group can try to snap him up. I must say, though, that with Julian Hawthorne and Harry Potter sharing a table, I am expecting quite a treat from that corner of the room.” He winked and smiled and Harry felt sick. “Now, everyone, off you go.”

       “Harry,” Julian said as everyone threw open their potions books. “Are you good at brewing?”

       “I had a good year,” Harry muttered. Ron snorted, but didn't say anything more. Ginny picked her potion almost instantly and went to the ingredient cabinet to begin. Ron and Harry remained at a loss.

       “I _am_ a resource,” Julian smirked, flipping through Ginny’s abandoned book. “I’ll help you with whatever you pick.”

       “I’m just going to pick a sleeping draught,” Ron sighed.

       “The Draught of the Living Death?”

       “No. Just a regular one. I’m rubbish at potions; I’m not about to get fancy, especially not without Hermione here.” He, too, made his way to the ingredient cabinet. Julian was studying a page that seemed to show flames bursting out of a cauldron.

       “Ah, my favorite: Ignisaque,” he smiled. “Liquid flame. Very flashy.”

       “Is it hard?”

       “In the book, yes, but it’s very quick and I know short cuts,” Julian replied. “You’ll be done in under an hour.”

       “We've got an hour and a half,” Harry said, flipping to the same page in his own book. “I’d like a free half hour.”

       The potion was hopelessly difficult, with many, many intricate steps. It required at least twenty ingredients including dragon’s blood, salamander eyes, phoenix tears, and water from a desert spring. There were also odd instructions, which involved rubbing the cauldron with your hands to heat it up first and, at some point, inhaling a large amount of the fumes. Harry looked at Julian skeptically.

       “It’s a cool one,” the American boy said, waggling his eye brows. “I also know how to do it without looking at the book. I wouldn’t look at the book anyway though, because that method is stupid and time consuming. I know how to do it better than the book.”

       “You’ll help me?”

       “Yes.”

       “Fine,” Harry sighed, getting up as his friends returned. Julian followed him to the cabinet and began pulling out vials and setting them in Harry’s arms. They had everything they needed in less than a minute. Julian really _did_ know this potion well.

       “You’ll need to start by adding the blood, tears, and water together,” Julian instructed. “Add them all to the cauldron in that order: blood, tears, water. You just put them in and let them sit for ten minutes. Don’t do that silly rubbing thing.”

       Harry did as instructed and, almost immediately, the mixture started to smoke.

       “It’s supposed to do that,” Julian assured him. “Completely normal. Now ten minutes, watch the clock.” Harry did and Julian checked on Ron and Ginny. He had no corrections for the potion Ginny had chosen—the Volubilis Potion to change one’s voice—though Ron had already almost ruined his.

       “Julian,” Harry asked as the boy dumped a beaker of water and a hand full of beetle wings into Ron’s cauldron. “How long have you and Draco been friends?”

       “Oh, for a long time,” Julian laughed. “As long as I can remember.”

       “And he’s a family friend?”

       “Well, he’s family. Stir that, quick. Whisk it!” Ron whisked with all his might and the mixture began to froth. Harry glanced at the page and saw that was the proper appearance for the second step. The green sludge than Ron had produced before was not indicated anywhere on the page.

       “What do you mean he’s family?” Ginny asked, dicing up a bright purple root.

       “He’s our cousin. I mean, not a first cousin; he’s actually pretty distant, but we think of him as a cousin.”

       “Which side is he a cousin on?” Harry said, trying to be very tactical.

       “Well, both, as it turns out,” Julian laughed. “We knew we were related to the Malfoys on our mother’s side; the manor Draco lives in used to be Grandma Elladora’s house. Of course, as far as they know, she’s dead. But our Father’s family, the Hawthornes, are actually related to the Blacks. Our grandmother on that side—Calliope Burke—is the daughter of Herbert Burke and Belvina Black. I only know that because Aunt Narcissa taught us and she’s all…weird…about stuff like that. Ron, you’ll want that to be finely minced.”

       Ron dumped his roughly hewn chunks of hemlock back onto his cutting board and began chopping again.

       “Anyway, yes, Herbert Burke and Belvina Black had our grandmother, which makes her a second cousin of Walburga Black and her brothers. She married our grandfather—Cornelius Hawthorne—and had our dad, Philip. So dad is…what would that be…second cousin once removed, I think, to Narcissa and Bella and Andromeda, as well as Sirius and Regulus. There was a funny age gap somewhere. Anyway, that makes Draco our third cousin once or twice removed; I don’t even know if that exists. We are by no means closely related, but Dad and Narcissa were friendly, so Angelique stayed with the Malfoys for a while when we were young. It was because um…you know, moving and whatever. But after that, we kept in touch.”

       “So, you’re just sort of…friends,” Ginny said, stirring her brew.

       “More or less. Alternate clockwise and counterclockwise, it’ll turn yellow faster.”

       “Oh, thank you.”

       “We, ah, saw Nym in Diagon Alley with Draco,” Ron said, wiping sweat from his brow. “We just sort of wondered why they were together.”

       “Yeah, he stayed with her for part of the summer. He didn’t… well he didn't have a very good year, did he?”

       “Yes, it must have been very hard for him,” Harry said dryly. Julian’s brow creased.

       “It was. It might not have been hard in the same way as it was for you, but it’s not exactly fair to assume he had it easy by comparison. Check your mixture.”

       Harry peeked into his cauldron to see that it had congealed into a pulsing, red blob. It matched the picture in the book (though in the book, it wasn’t supposed to look like that until six steps later) so he moved on to the next step and dropped the salamander eyes in. Immediately, the blob wrapped around them and began to swell. It continued to grow until it filled half the cauldron before it burst, with a purple liquid spilling out.

       “Is it supposed to do this?” Harry asked. Julian nodded and smiled.

       “Brew for half an hour and then stir clockwise. When the top curdles, dump in the rest all at once and stand back. In the meantime, Ron, that’s not supposed to smoke.”

       “Bugger.”

       Julian spent a long time helping Ron to salvage his potion. Ginny seemed to be managing just fine on her own, and the half hour was up far sooner than Harry expected. He looked at the dark violet mixture and stuck his ladle in, starting to stir. It took only a few moments for green, foamy clots to start forming on the top.

       “Now?” He asked. Julian nodded, a huge smile on his face. Harry tossed in his bowl of extra ingredients and all of the clots sank to the bottom. The mixture started to fade to red and then to bright orange; it kept glowing brighter and brighter until it was a blinding white. All at once, the cauldron was spewing out flames.

       “Oh ho ho!” Slughorn laughed, bustling over. “Ignisaque! Good show, Potter! Very impressive, very impressive!”

       “Thank you, professor,” Harry said. “What should I do with it though?”

       “Well, if you’ll let me, I’d quite like to bottle it up and keep it. You never know when it might come in handy.”

       “Of course, it’s yours.”

       “Ron, cut the heat,” Julian said, ignoring the praise Harry was being given. Ron extinguished his flame and his potion turned a bright, sky blue.

       “Oh, and a sleeping draught! Not a very complex potion, but particularly well executed. And what are you working on, Ms. Weasley?”

       “A voice changing potion.”

       “Ah, nearly done then? I believe the steam comes shortly before the end.”

       “Yes, sir, I think so.”

       “Julian, m’boy, why don’t you clear their cauldrons? I trust your ability to complete it, my dear, and I am prepared to award points without seeing it. Let me see, ten points for the sleeping draught; ten for the Volubilis and twenty for the Ingnisaque. Oh, and you’re all excused. Clean up and you may go. Mr. Potter, leave your cauldron; you can collect it tomorrow.”

       “Yes sir,” Harry said, grinning at his friends. They hurriedly cleared their stations and Harry and Ginny rushed out the door. Ron followed, but hesitated before turning back. He walked over to Julian, spoke to him for a moment, and then joined the other two.

       “What was that?” Ginny asked.

       “I just wanted to say thank you,” he replied. “He saved my skin.”

       “Fair enough,” Harry nodded. “Anyone feel like paying a visit to Hagrid?”

       “Yes,” Ginny grinned. The three climbed the stairs out of the dungeon and were tromping over the grounds in moments, eager to see their old friend. As they neared his hut, with the pumpkins in the garden and the smoke winding out the chimney, they could hear him laughing.

       “Hagrid!” Harry called, knocking on the door.

       “Jus’ a mo’,” he called back. “I’m comin’.” He pulled the door open and he had his hair combed, his awful tie on, and a huge bucket of tea in his hand.

       “Oh, Harry! Ron!” The large man laughed. “Come in! Ginny, you as well! Get in ‘ere!” He pulled the door open wider and they all saw who he had been entertaining. She was a Blackhearth student with long, dark brown hair and a pretty, round face. She had a generous smattering of freckles and a scarf tied like a headband in her hair. She smiled and waved as they came in.

       “I’d like you all ter meet Penelope,” Hagrid said, smiling broadly. “She’s a magical creatures specialist over at Blackhearth. She came out ter see me an’ show me ‘er bird. I missed meeting ‘im the first time he was ‘ere.”

       “What bird?”

       “Well, you startled him,” Penelope said, smiling again. “He’ll show up once he’s calmed down. Also, please call me Pepper. Everyone does.” As soon as she’d finished her sentence, there was a burst of flame right next to her head and there, perched on her shoulder, was a phoenix. The same one that had appeared on the dining room table in Privet Drive.

       “Isn’t he beau’iful? I've never met one other’n Fawkes.”

       “It’s yours?” Harry asked, gawking at the dark haired girl. “It’s _your_ bird?”

       “Well, he’s a _friend_ of mine,” Pepper replied, stroking the bird’s tummy. “I don’t like to think of him as belonging to me.”

       “What’s his name?” Ginny asked, stepping closer to examine it. The bird extended its neck and cooed at her.

       “His name is Arrow,” Pepper laughed. “And he’s very flirtatious.”

       “Tell ‘em how you found him,” Hagrid said, positively beaming.

       “Well, I was on an excursion through a Blackhearth class and I found him on the ground in a forest. His mother had pushed him out of the nest because he was too,” she stopped speaking and mouthed _small_. “Sorry,” she laughed. “He’s very sensitive about his size.”

       “I called him small when I met him,” Harry recounted. “He bit my ear.”

       “He’ll do that,” Pepper sighed. “I was surprised he agreed to go get you, to be honest. He’s not an overly helpful animal.”

       “Why did you loan him to McGonagall?” Harry asked, taking a seat at the huge table. Ron followed suit and Ginny continued to play with Arrow, gently stroking his head.

       “Nym asked me if they could use Arrow to get you to the castle,” Pepper replied. “It was either Arrow or a house elf. Arrow is a bit less hassle.”

       “Does Nym often ask for favors like that?”

       “Well, yes,” she laughed. “But I ask her for them all the time. It’s a give and take.”

       “Oh.”

       “Where’s Hermione?” Hagrid asked, handing out mugs for tea.

       “She’s got a different schedule than us,” Ron sighed. “So she’s still in class.”

       “How’s it goin’ then?” Hagrid said, winking. “Between you two?”

       “Really well, actually.”

       “I figured it would,” the big man chuckled. “I knew you two were meant fer each other. I jus’ knew it.”

       “I don’t know who Hermione is,” Pepper said, smiling, “but congratulations. I’m very happy for you both.”

       “Er, thanks,” Ron laughed.

       Arrow had shifted to the very edge of Pepper’s shoulder to get closer to Ginny and was slowly sliding off. Pepper lifted her elbow up to Ginny’s shoulder and Arrow scuttled across, nuzzling his head into Ginny’s cheek.

       “I told you, he’s an absolute flirt.”

       “I think he’s very nice,” Ginny smiled.

       “Careful,” Ron said. “Or Ginny will steal him, like she stole my owl.”

       “Oh, not this again. Ron, I did not _steal_ Pigwidgeon, you abandoned him. What did you expect him to do?”

       “To stay loyal to his owner!”

       “You’ve got a new one now,” Ginny sighed. “Isn’t that good enough?”

       “You have a new owl?” Pepper said, seeming genuinely interested.

       “Yeah, he’s an eagle owl.”

       “Those are very big birds.”

       “Yeah, he’s huge,” Ron grinned. “Much bigger than the runt Ginny stole. I've named him Titan as well. Not something stupid, like Pigwidgeon.”

       “I think Pigwidgeon is a very good name for a very small owl,” Pepper smiled. “And Titan suits a very large one. Have you got an owl, Harry?”

       “No,” he sighed. “My owl died last year and I just…I wasn't ready to get a new one just yet.”

       “I’m very sorry to hear that. What kind was it?”

       “She was a snowy owl.”

       “Beautiful I bet,” Pepper said, her smile now lighting up her warm brown eyes. She was one of those people that, although not unattractive to begin with, seemed prettier and prettier the longer you spoke to her. “I think it’s just fascinating that you use owls over here,” she continued. “We don’t over in America.”

       “What do you use to send mail?”

       “Mail men, mostly.”

       “But what if you need to send something urgent?” Harry asked.

       “Well, Americans don’t have quite the same…ah…aversion to muggle technology that you do over here. We openly use telephones; however, we also have a unique system of two way mirrors that work a bit like telephones in their own right.”

       “What do you mean?”

       “Well, they’re two way in the sense that only two mirrors can be involved in the communication at one time. But any two mirrors in the system can link up with one another; think of it as a floo network for mirrors.”

       “Is that very new?” Ginny asked. “Like, recently invented?”

       “Oh, geez, I couldn't tell you,” Pepper laughed. “I mean, it was in place when I got to school, but that wasn't until I was eleven, so who knows what was going on before then.”

       “Oh, so you’re a muggle born?” Ron asked.

       “I am indeed,” Pepper smiled. “My parents are muggle zoologists and are constantly baffled by the samples I send them from school. You should have seen the day I showed my father a phoenix feather; he nearly fainted. He actually did faint when I brought Arrow home.”

       “My uncle fell over when he showed up,” Harry laughed, remembering Vernon’s reaction. “It was brilliant.”

       “Arrow is a stunning creature,” she smiled, holding out her hands to the bird. He extended one foot, which she grabbed hold of, shifting him on to one of her forearms. “Unfortunately, we do have to get going now; I still have to check on the aquariums back at Blackhearth. It was excellent to meet all of you, I hope I’ll see you again soon. Hagrid, thank you so much for speaking to me; I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow for the forest walk.” She shook one of his massive hands and he held the door open for her. She had only taken one step outside when she vanished in a burst of flame, Arrow transporting them both back to their school.

       “Isn’t she wonderful?” Hagrid sighed. “I could talk to her fer days.”

       “Isn’t she a bit young for you though?” Ron asked.

       “What?” Hagrid coughed, choking on his tea. “I’m not in love with ‘er! She’s jus’ very skilled in our field. You know, magical creatures and such. Penelope’s one of the most well known researchers in the world.”

       “I didn't know that,” Ginny said.

       “Well you wouldn't would you? You all quit takin’ my class years ago. I've got new book requirements and she’s in all of ‘em.”

       “Is Nym in any books?” Harry asked. “Nymeria Hawthorne?”

       “Dunno,” Hagrid shrugged. “Should’a asked Penelope while she was ‘ere. They’re very close.”

       “Why isn't Nym at Hogwarts today?” Ginny asked. “Why isn't she meeting professors or going to classes.”

       “Well I expec’ she’s busy,” Hagrid laughed. “And don’ worry about her. You’ll meet her soon enough; I’m betting each of you is after a spot in her class?”

       “Yeah,” Harry said as they all grinned.

       “Good,” the large man smiled. “I think there’s a lot you can learn from her. There’s a lot you can learn from all the Blackhearth students. They’re ruddy brilliant, all of them, and dead clever.”

       “I think we've nearly figured that out, actually,” Ron laughed. “That school must be terrifying; like, just one massive dungeon filled with books.”

       “Hermione’s dream world,” Harry joked. Ron smirked back at him as Hagrid poured the tea.


	10. The Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new school offers an irresistible opportunity

       The next few days with the Blackhearth students passed quietly. They seemed to make a point to not call attention to themselves or to disrupt the classes they were in. In fact, it was very much like they were Hogwarts students that had been there all along, or like they weren't there at all. Harry didn't have any more classes with Julian, although Hermione did say that he was in her ancient runes class and was actually taking notes in runes, which impressed her to no end.

       On the last day of the Blackhearth students visiting, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville were all sitting together at the Gryffindor table for breakfast.

       “I can’t believe the things that they know,” Neville was saying, pouring himself another glass of pumpkin juice. “I mean, there was this one girl, Mauve, who came in for Herbology on the first day. She was just sort of watching what we were doing and I thought I’d ask her a question, you know? I mean, I suppose I sort of wanted to impress her, too, because I asked ‘Do you know what you can use the tentacles of Devil’s Snare for?’ I already know the answer, so I thought I’d seem clever, but she smiled really big and asked if I’d read her research and was that why I was asking.”

       “Her research?” Ginny asked.

       “Yeah, she knows loads about Devil’s Snare. She did a huge investigation on tentacle producing plants—she tested all their properties, went out into the jungle to find them, compared wild to domestic varieties—and she’s published three books on it. It was amazing to listen to her. She even gave me a copy of her latest book yesterday, since I’d asked where I could buy it. I’m already half way through; it’s brilliant.”

       “You know, that one girl we met, Pepper, she was a researcher too,” Ron said. “She worked with magical creature stuff. She’s in Hagrid’s text books.”

       “Are they all just geniuses over there?” Harry laughed. “Have all of them been published?”

       “Well, it wouldn't surprise me,” Hermione said evenly. “Blackhearth Academy of Magic is specifically designed to train the most skilled wizards and witches. They’re supposed to be—” She was cut off by the loud rustling that usually preceded the arrival of the owls.

       “What?” Ron said, looking up. “But mail’s already come in. What’re they all doing back?” It wasn't all the owls that were back, though, only a select few. They all seemed to be carrying matching blue envelopes in their beaks. Pigwidgeon tumbled down out of the air, miraculously managing to land and not simply crash into the table. As Ginny was reaching for her letter, Titan swooped down. His six foot wingspan meant everyone in the general vicinity got a face full of feathers, but Ron seemed quite pleased to see that the eagle-owl was actually sitting on Pigwidgeon.

       “Good boy,” he praised, trading the bird a sausage for his letter. Titan gulped it down, clicked his beak affectionately at Ron, and took off again. Pig looked rather ruffled and Ginny retrieved her letter with a scowl. Hermione’s new owl simply dropped a packet of letters into her lap without causing any commotion at all.

       “Neville, Harry, I have letters for you,” Hermione said, handing them out.

       “Oh, they’re invitations!” Ginny said, grinning at her card.

       “For what?” Harry asked, breaking the seal on his envelope.

       “To go to Blackhearth,” she explained. “I was wondering how they planned on choosing who was allowed to go. They’re only taking fifteen seventh years.”

       “But that means five Gryffindors are going,” Hermione said. “That’s far too many from one house.”

       “I dunno. I mean, it looks like they've invited anyone that came back, doesn't it?” Neville pointed out. “When you look at that, it’s about half our year, half Ginny and Luna’s.”

       “Yeah. Yeah I suppose so,” Harry said, looking around the room. Aside from their group of four, the only other people that had come back and stayed longer than the first two days were Malfoy, Goyle, and Padma Patil. There had been more on the train, but most had left. Eight people in Ginny’s year had also received notes, including her and Luna. In fact, as Harry looked around, it seemed to be just the prefects.

       “So when are we leaving?” Ron asked, flipping through his letter. There was an amazing amount of paper crammed into the little envelopes. It had an invitation card, a packing list, rules and expectations, and a photo of a smiling blonde girl with a note about her on the back:

_Hello new friends! I’m Bethany and I’ll be leading your tour today! Please meet me by the Great Hall fireplace at 10:30 a.m. See you soon!_

       “Oh,” Ron said, reading the caption. “Ten thirty, then.”

       “Look at this packing list,” Hermione gawked. “We need clothes, soap, and whatever class items we deem necessary.”

       “So just clothes and soap then,” Harry laughed. Ron grinned, but Hermione looked stricken.

       “We’re only being given one case to pack in. How will I ever fit it all in?”

       “I’m sure they have books at Blackhearth,” Ginny said gently. “Maybe you can leave those out.”

       “Yeah, Hermione, don’t worry,” Neville nodded. “I’m sure it’ll be just fine.” While she did not look entirely convinced, Hermione stopped her fretting and they got on with their meal. Amidst the packet of papers was a line that informed them that not only were they excused from their classes for the next few days, but they would all also be excused from their morning classes to allow adequate time for packing. After breakfast, they all went back up to Gryffindor tower where Harry and Ron promptly sat down to a game of wizard’s chess.

       “Aren’t you going to get your things together?” Neville asked.

       “We have plenty of time,” Ron replied.

       “Alright, I’ll just be upstairs then.”

       “I’m going to go help Hermione,” Ginny said, kissing Harry’s cheek. “See you in a bit.”

       Then it was just Ron, Harry, and their battle for supremacy. It soon went from just the one game to best two out of three, and then best three out of five. As they set up for their fourth game, Harry noticed the clock.

       “Ron,” he said, eyes wide. “It’s ten fifteen.”

       “Oh bloody hell.”

       They both raced up to their dormitory and threw whatever clothes they found into the little blue suitcases that had been laid out on their beds.

       “Why didn't anyone tell us they were leaving!” Ron huffed, slamming his case shut.

       “I’m willing to bet they did, but we just didn't notice.”

       “Whatever.”

       Harry and Ron carried their cases down to the Great Hall, jogging the whole way, and found Hermione, Ginny, and Neville already there, all looking slightly irritated. There was the witch from Blackhearth standing in front of the fire place. Her long gold hair, which hung perfectly straight all the way down her back, was pushed back with a blue silk head band. She was chatting with the Padma and the Ravenclaw boy. Luna was also near them, though she was more or less just staring off into space. Harry peered around and realized everyone seemed to be separated into their houses.

       “Why are we all arranged like this?” He whispered.

       “So they can count,” Ginny replied.

       “Wait!” Someone called, running through the massive doors. “Wait, Beth! I’m coming with you!” It was Pepper and she was panting as though she’d run there straight from Hagrid’s hut, which she very well may have done.

       “We’re not leaving yet,” the blond girl replied. “We’re waiting on two more Gryffindors.”

       “There’s already six,” Pepper huffed. “How many more are coming?”

       “There’s six?” The girl said, glancing over. “Oh, then we’re all here. Feel free to mingle now.” There was excited chatter from the students as they rearranged, Luna swaying her way over to the Gryffindor group.

       “Hello,” she said airily. “Isn't this exciting?”

       “Alright,” the blond girl said, calling for their attention. “Now, my name is Bethany Herring—“

       “Like the fish,” Pepper added.

       “Thank you, Spicer,” Bethany said, scowling at her. “Now please, refrain from speaking out of turn. This is _my_ job.”

       “Sorry.”

       “Anyway, yes, I am Bethany Herring. I’m in my final year at Blackhearth, I specialize in the study of ancient runes.” Hermione let out an excited squeak at this. “And I will be your tour guide today. I…what is it, Spicer?” Everyone looked over and saw Pepper had her hand in the air.

       “Can I help you?” she asked. Bethany rolled her eyes and sighed very loudly. “So is that a yes or a no?”

       “Fine!”

       “Excellent!” Pepper laughed. “I am Penelope Spicer. Please call me Pepper. I am also in my final year at Blackhearth and I specialize in veterinary care of magical creatures, particularly large breed and venomous.”

       “Wonderful, now, may I continue?” Bethany asked. There was clearly a bit of tension between the girls, more on Bethany’s end than Pepper’s. “We are going to be giving you all an initial tour of the grounds. Now, once the floo connection is made permanent, it will take you into an empty class room that has been redone specifically to be a welcome area. For now, it is connected to a gate house just outside the grounds. When we arrive, we will walk up to the school and you can leave your things on the front steps and we will continue your tour. Questions?”

       “Where will we be sleeping?” The hufflepuff girl asked.

       “A number of male and female rooms have been assigned to you. Anything else? No? Then, if you would please follow me. Spicer, if you can come last so I know we have everyone.”

       “Sure,” Pepper said, moving to the back of the group. Bethany tossed a large handful of floo powder into the fireplace and shouted, “Blackhearth Academy of Magic!” Green flames erupted from the grate and she stepped confidently through. One by one, the Hogwarts students followed suit. Harry was last, with the exception of Pepper. When the whirling green flames finally stopped, he found himself in a small sitting room with dusty, decrepit furniture.

       “All here!” Pepper shouted.

       “Follow me,” Bethany instructed, pushing open a heavy door. The light outside was blinding compared to the dark, dingy little room and they had to squint as they walked through. The gatehouse they had come from was positioned a few yards in front of a rusty, spike topped iron fence and right next to a jagged, gravel path. On the other side of this path, a short way away, was a large, heavy wooden sign hung on black chains. One of the hooks of the sign had straightened a bit, so it hung askew, but the large black letters were easily read.

# Blackhearth Children’s Asylum

       The sign swayed in the breeze with an ominous creak and the Hogwarts students turned to look at what might lay beyond the imposing, black fence. The gravel path continued through a massive gate, held shut with heavy chains and an assortment of large pad locks. Behind this was a large, dark forest of massive pines and spindly, dead trees. There were dry, thorny vines creeping up the fence and stretching out into the over grown grass, like fingers poking out from under a door. It did not look at all inviting.

       “Here we are,” Bethany said happily.

       “Well done,” Pepper said. “ You've found it.” This seemed to offend Bethany to no end as she whirled around and shot Pepper a very menacing glare.

       “You know what?” She demanded. “I volunteered to lead this tour because I thought I might enjoy it. But not even _this_ is worth spending time with _you_  
       “You need to lighten up. It was just a joke.”

       “It’s not a funny one. It isn't funny now and it wasn't funny then.”

       “Well, it was pretty funny then.”

       Bethany fixed her with another glare, before turning back around and walking forward. She got to about five feet before the sign and vanished completely. All the Hogwarts students began whispering furiously. Pepper gave a little spinning hop to the front and clapped to get their attention.

       “As you have surely been shocked by my classmate’s sudden disappearance,” she said loudly so everyone could hear her. “Allow me to explain. Blackhearth, just like Hogwarts, is concealed from muggles by various charms and enchantments. There is a point, roughly three feet behind me, after which the charms are no longer in effect. We call this the ‘wall’. Anyone can pass through it, but there is a memory charm that affects muggles, scrambling their brains as to why they were approaching in the first place. The spell is strong enough that even the most curious muggles wishing to have a peek at the whack jobs in the asylum walk off.”

       “So, there’s just a memory wall?” Hermione asked, sounding scandalized. “No other protection at all?”

       “Well, there’s the visual illusion,” Pepper said with a shrug. “But other than that, no, there’s nothing. We don’t need anything else; you’ll figure out why pretty quickly.” She grinned mischievously and then turned back to the group. “Now, please, follow me.”

       She turned and took a giant step forward, vanishing just as Bethany had. Padma followed suit, leading the group. After three or four steps, it was obvious they had all passed the ‘wall’ because everything suddenly transformed.

       The sign instantly turned into a massive, black stone statue of a tall, bearded wizard sitting on what appeared to be a throne. His robes flowed down, past the pedestal the throne was on, parting to reveal large engraved letters:

# Blackhearth Academy of Magic

       Below these words was what could only be assumed to be the school creed. It read _There is no honor in power if it cannot be controlled_. The statue was surrounded by hoards of red tulips with black and yellow markings. It was decidedly more impressive than the sign for the asylum.

       “This is a statue of our first ever headmaster, Ignatius Edmund Blackhearth,” Pepper informed them as they all passed through the charm barrier. “He was imprisoned within the chair he’s shown sitting in long before the school was founded and has been there ever since, keeping an eye on things.” This sent titters through the crowd but Pepper didn't seem to care and turned back around, continuing to lead them on.

       The filthy, jagged path had turned into one of rounded white pebbles and led up to the iron gate, which now stood wide open, awaiting their entrance. The bars of the gate and the fence were a gleaming black and had beautifully curled spirals and designs. The trees behind the high fence were now towering maples, ablaze with the colors of autumn; there were bright green shrubs that bore fat black berries, and the thorny vines were now ivy that climbed delicately up the fence. The change was startling and beautiful and the Hogwarts students enjoyed the scenery immensely as Pepper led them up the snow white trail through the forest. Along the way a few people called out, pointing at animals they had spotted through the trees. They caught glimpses of fairies and they could hear bowtruckles grumbling down at them.

       “Oh, a unicorn!” Hermione exclaimed. Harry turned to look where she had pointed and leapt back in surprise at a green, grinning face that was suddenly before his. The creature it belonged to was hanging lazily from a tree overhead with long, green arms. It looked like a monkey, but with a frog’s skin, and its intelligent brown eyes were staring intently at Harry. The grin on the animal’s face was nothing more than the shape of its wide mouth. It yawned, showing razor sharp teeth, and scratched a large white pustule the shape of a rain drop on its forehead.

       “Oh, that’s a clabbert,” said Pepper, picking a blackberry and offering it to the animal. It accepted it and, popping the fat berry into its mouth, scampered up into the tree. “We've got a couple of them in here; the thing on their forehead glows red when muggles are coming. That one was Paolo. He’s the only clabbert we've ever seen that likes berries. Mostly they eat lizards and—oh!” She stopped short, looking down. An arm, covered in long silvery white hair was poking out of a bush, its black hand clamped firmly around her leg.

       “What’s that?” asked Padma, sounding a little panicked.

       “This is Grumble,” Pepper laughed, stooping down and putting her arms out, as though waiting for a hug from a small child. Instead of a child, what looked like a large, silver orangutan bustled out and latched its lanky arms around Pepper’s neck. She stood up and the thing turned its head, surveying the class with big, doleful black eyes. It drooped its head and buried its face in Pepper’s neck before it vanished completely, though Pepper still appeared to be holding it.

       “He’s a demiguise,” she explained to her very confused audience. “They can turn invisible at will. Grumble’s a sweet heart though; he’s just shy. He’ll probably show himself again before too long. Now, come on, we’re not even to the school yet.” She turned and continued walking and the group followed. Grumble the demiguise reappeared moments later, peeking back at them through Pepper’s dark hair.

       The Blackhearth forest was clearly an answer to Hogwarts’ Forbidden Forest, though the creatures here seemed much less dangerous. Pepper informed them that most Care of Magical Creatures students were certified to handle all the exotic animals at Blackhearth and that all the animals in the forest had been found by previous students and brought back to the school. (Once Hermione gave her a withering glare, Pepper added that each animal was found injured or orphaned, and was not simply taken.)

       The flawless white path led on for about half a mile more before the forest ended abruptly and the school grounds were suddenly exposed. Before them sat a massive hill with grass so perfect, even the Dursley’s would have been pleased. The white path continued on a ways before making a big loop right in front of what had to be the school, which was perched at the very top.

       Blackhearth was not a castle, but rather a palace, and it was made of beautiful grey and black marbled stone. It had a long, broad stair case leading up from the white pebble path that ended in four sets of massive, wide open, arching double doors. They were not heavy wooden doors like at Hogwarts, but rather were covered in windows, sheathed by sheer white curtains that billowed like sails in the slight breeze. The school extended up, beyond these doors, with lines of windows showing six additional stories. There were no towers, but the school was incredibly wide; it had to be half a mile from one end to the other. The building was all black and white with its grey stone, white curtains, and black roof. But green ivy was creeping up the walls and massive flower beds full of exotic blossoms were spread all along its front, adding elegant bursts of color. It was beautiful.

       Pepper led the Hogwarts students up the path and straight through the doors. They were in a long corridor that seemed to extend along the entire front of the school. Eight sets of small glassy doors were directly on the other side, all of which were also open. Down the rest of the hall though, were arched doors of polished black wood and all were closed; obviously, those doors led to classrooms.

       “You can set down your bags here,” Pepper instructed. “Someone will collect them and take them to your rooms.” Everyone piled up their cases and Pepper led them straight ahead through the open doors.

       On the other side was a grand staircase that led down a short way into a room that could have swallowed the Great Hall a few times over. It had polished stone floors and a high ceiling that apparently extended all the way to the roof, where ornate arches supported large, silver bells. On the left and right walls, there were massive entrances and stair cases just like the one they were walking down. Above all these doorways were open halls, guarded with thick stone banisters so that, should anyone walk by on an upper story, they could see down into the huge room. All five upper stories were visible, wrapping around the room, and Harry could see more polished black classroom doors. At the far end of the room, the open halls above continued, but there were no doors atop the stair case. Instead, directly in the center, was a huge throne of black wood.

       “This is our Main Hall. It’s very much like your Great Hall. We eat here, but the tables are only ever set up for meals. Otherwise this room is just empty. That, over there, is the High Throne,” Pepper announced, pointing across the room. “Ignatius Edmund Blackhearth is inside it; no one has ever been able to get him out. He sees everything that goes on in this school; he keeps us honor bound.”

       “How does he do that?” Luna asked, as mutters went through the group.

       “Well, usually, the teachers are pretty good about giving out fair punishment,” Pepper explained, shifting Grumble to her other hip. “But sometimes, they won’t see a student do something wrong and the kid might get away with it; that’s when the throne will call out their name and Blackhearth will punish them personally. There are also a lot of cases where a teacher will give out unfair punishment and a student can contest it, with the throne as the judge.”

       “So, that thing seriously catches everything?” Ron said, sounding impressed.

       “He especially loves yelling at students out of bed,” Pepper laughed, swatting at Grumble as he tried to put his finger in her nose. “At the beginning of the year, quite a few first years get called out to sit on the throne in the middle of the night.”

       “Have you ever had to sit in it?” Malfoy drawled from the back. Pepper grinned.

       “I’ve been called down a fair few times, but I’m hardly ever alone,” she replied. Just then, slanted, elegant script burned white across the chair’s high back.  
  


#  _Wrigley John Johnson_

       Suddenly a booming voice that seemed to come from every direction at once shouted, “WRIGLEY JOHN JOHNSON!”

       “Oh, good,” Pepper sighed. “You’ll get to see a demonstration.”


	11. The Blackhearth Academy of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hogwarts students learn much more about their new sister school.

       There was a bang somewhere down a hallway on the first floor followed by distant shouting. A door on the second floor also opened and two people stepped out: a professor in navy blue robes and Nymeria Hawthorne. They both walked to the railing, Nym sitting down and tossing her legs over the side and the professor propping herself up on her elbows.

       “Who is it today?” Nym called down. Pepper shut her eyes and cocked her head to listen.

       “Can’t tell yet. They pretty much all sound like this.”

       “Well it’s not a potions master,” the professor said, smirking. “He’s a model student in our classes.” The professor was average height with deep red-brown skin and jet black hair in an extremely long plait. She also wore a bindi on her forehead and a gold nose ring. Harry wished Hogwarts could have a potions teacher like that.

       “I HAVE A RIGHT TO BE RESPECTED IN MY CLASSROOM!” A woman shrieked, bursting through the doors on the right. She was following a tall, tidy looking boy. His light brown hair was neatly combed, his uniform was perfectly pressed, and his black shoes shone like glass. He had his hands in his pockets and seemed distinctly unaffected by the tiny, spidery woman screaming at him.

       This professor also wore navy robes, but her hair was frizzy, mousy brown, and desperately trying to escape the bun on the back of her head. If it weren't nearly purple from shouting, her face would look quite normal but, as it was, she looked insane. She and the boy went straight toward the high throne and stopped at the bottom of the steps.

       “I am your teacher, Mr. Johnson, and therefore have every right to give you assignments and expect to have them completed!”

       “I am outside curriculum,” he answered in a calm, composed voice. “I have every right to refuse your assignment. And anyway, I don’t need to make excuses to you. Headmaster Blackhearth wants to speak to us.”

       “It’s only the fourth week of term and he’s already at the throne,” Nym said, smiling. “This has to be some kind of record.”

       “I’m so proud,” Pepper laughed up at her. The writing had now disappeared from the throne and the frazzled woman standing at the bottom of the stairs seemed to be speaking to it.

       “I assigned my class an essay on summoning charms,” she was explaining heatedly. “I told them to take out their books and get started and he kicks up his feet and starts reading!” She jabbed a finger at the boy next to her.

       “LIE!” Yelled four voices in unison. Pepper, Nym, the professor with her, and the booming voice had all said it at once. The spidery witch flinched.

       “Alright, I exaggerated,” she confessed. “But he did take out a book for another class! I asked him politely to please do the work I had assigned and he said that he would rather not, as his astronomy diagrams weren't finished yet. I asked him again to begin the essay and he said no, so I gave up! I ordered him to serve a detention tonight and to do the essay, as my authority as a teacher clearly allows me to do! For him to say he will not do an assignment that I give out is in clear violation of that and greatly disrespectful. I will not have my authority flouted in my own classroom and I will not tolerate disruptions like the one he has caused!” The woman stood panting, still red in the face, evidently finished. The boy cleared his throat.

       “I confess that I did take out my astronomy homework and tell the professor that I would not be doing her essay,” he said calmly.

       “Aha!” The witch shrieked, pointing again. “He admits it!”

       “I did not interrupt you,” the boy said quietly. “I will thank you to extend the same courtesy.” The skinny witch looked as though she’d been slapped in the face and the boy continued.

       “I have been outside of curriculum in charms since my sixth year here,” he explained. “Therefore, it is my right to decide which assignments I find beneficial to my education and to complete them as such. I didn't feel the essay on summoning charms was necessary as I've been able to do them successfully since I was twelve, and I mastered the much more difficult version, conjuring spells, by the time I was fifteen. I tried to explain all of this to the professor, but she was so busy screaming at me that I’m not at all surprised she didn't hear it.

       “I would also like to state that I am not flouting the professor’s authority, as she has none in this particular situation, and I did not cause a disruption. I responded quietly to the professor’s requests so as not to disturb my classmates. It was the professor that began yelling. While I admit, my behavior may have frustrated her, the fact that she cannot manage said frustration effectively is not my fault.”

       “Ouch,” Nym sniggered. The professor by her whapped her arm. The hall went silent for a moment before the voice boomed out, “TERMS.”

       “I want him to serve a detention and complete his essay!” The witch huffed.

       “I want my rights as a student and to be excused from Professor Finky’s class until she has finished with summoning charms,” the boy replied evenly. Another quiet moment.

       “JOHNSON!” The voice bellowed. This seemed to have been the verdict, because the spidery witch screeched with rage and then bustled off back across the room and down the corridor. The boy remained, smiling slightly.

       “Does she know you’re a lawyer?” The professor on the second floor asked.

       “She’s figuring it out. How are you, by the way? You look well.”

       “No extra credit,” she replied, smiling. “Stop begging. And go easy on the new professor. She’s still adjusting.”

       “Nymeria Hawthorne!” He continued, ignoring the comment. “How are you, my darling girl? Did you enjoy the show?”

       “I’d give it an eight out of ten.”

       “Only eight!”

       “There were no tears,” she shrugged. “Usually, there are tears. That’s what I came out to see.”

       “Fair enough. I’ll step up my game next time. Hey, when do you go in to work today?”

       “No ministry today,” she smiled. “Minister’s sick, so he’s staying in country.”

       “Does that mean you’ll eat lunch _and_ dinner with me?”

       “I suppose,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “For now, though, I have class. Right?”

       “Yes,” the professor replied. “Come on.” She helped Nym off of the banister and went into her open classroom door.

       “Bye Wrigley,” Nym called. “Bye Pepper.” She closed the door and Wrigley looked over his shoulder.

       “Penelope Jane Spicer, have you been there the whole time?”

       “Yes. Thank you for ignoring me.”

       “Never,” he gasped, walking over. “You’re a love of my life. I do not ignore you.”

       “A love?” Ginny asked.

       “Well, Nymsie is the other one,” he grinned, running a hand through his hair. “And who are all of you?”

       “Oh, I would love to introduce you,” Pepper laughed. “But I sort of stole them from Bethany, so I don’t actually know all their names. But, I mean, to all of you, this is Wrigley Johnson.”

       “Did you say you _stole_ them from Bethany? How did you manage that?”

       They stared at each other for a moment before they both said in unison, “Aquariums.”

       “Really, she needs to let it go,” Pepper sighed.

       “She does. I mean, any time you mention any lost thing, she just blows up about it. So she forgot where the aquariums are; move on.”

       “Honestly.”

       “Now, as Pepper said, I’m Wrigley,” he smiled, shifting to face the group again. “Who are all of you wonderful people?”

       “I can rattle us off,” Ginny said, stepping forward. “I’m Ginny Weasley. This is my brother Ron and that’s Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and Dylan Varner. We’re the Gryffindors. These are the Ravenclaws: Padma Patil, Luna Lovegood, and Michael Downey. These are the Hufflepuffs: Helen Pobble and Aaron Grimes, and those are the Slytherins: Veronica Snipe, Evan Dolohov, Gregory Goyle, and Draco Malfoy.”

       Wrigley shook everyone’s hand in turn, giving Draco a quick hug instead.

       “It’s excellent to meet all of you,” he said. “What are your thoughts on the place so far?”

       “It’s beautiful,” the Hufflepuff girl blurted.

       “I completely agree, Helen,” he smiled. “How far have you gotten?”

       “Just to here,” Pepper replied. Grumble was on her back now, twirling his fingers in her hair.

       “Do you want to put him back?” Wrigley asked. “I can take them out back while you do and then meet you on the back stairs. It’s not like I have class.”

       “Perfect,” she laughed. “He’s getting heavy. Sorry to turn you all over like this, but Grumble has to go home. Follow Wrigley. He knows where he’s going.”

       Pepper went back out the way they’d entered and Wrigley guided them up the staircase on the left side of the room and through the hallway it led to. The corridor was full of the same evenly spaced, shiny black doors that were in the front hall. There were no portraits, no tapestries, no statues; there were no decorations at all. However, there was beauty in the simplicity of it. The hall had polished gray and black marbled floor, foggy gray walls, shiny black doors, and–because there were no windows at the center of the school–there were bright blue and gold bubbles suspended near the ceiling that cast a surprisingly warm looking light.

       A good way down the hall, they came to a large open area that split into four directions like the previous room had, though this area was considerably smaller. A gigantic spiral stair case of thick, marbled stone twisted upward, all the way to the top story, allowing landings at every floor. The railings of more open hallways could be seen when looking up.

       “There are two stair cases like this in the school,” Wrigley said, staring straight up. “There’s one, evenly spaced from the Main Hall, in each wing.”

       “There’s no other stairs?” Padma Patil asked. “How inconvenient.”

       “Oh no, there are plenty of stair cases,” Wrigley laughed, looking back at the group. “But all the other ones are inside classrooms; those ones only lead to the next floor up. These are the only ones that go from the ground floor to the tippy top. Now, come on, let’s go out the back.”

       He turned right and they were walking down a corridor at the end of which Harry could see a lot of bright sunlight. Glancing behind him, he could see clear to the other end of the school.

       “All these doors look the same,” Draco commented as they passed more classrooms. “How are you supposed to know where you’re going?”

       “It’s pretty simple,” Wrigley said over his shoulder. “They’re all numbered. Every schedule has a room number for your classes, so you just look for the room that matches. You can also tell the floor and the wing you need to be in from the number,” he continued, turning suddenly to a door and putting his finger on a silver number beside it that Harry had not noticed before.

       “There are two hundred rooms on each educational floor, excluding the fifth,” he explained. “Each one is exactly the same size. Below the educational floors is a giant kitchen, which is room zero. But, from the ground floor up, the rules are the same: the first hundred are in the right wing, the second hundred are in the left wing.”

       “What do you mean?” Ron asked, furrowing his brow.

       “On this floor, we have rooms one to two-hundred,” he said, sounding exceptionally patient. “Rooms one to one-hundred are in the right wing. Rooms one-hundred-and-one to two-hundred are here in the left wing. Above us, we have rooms two-hundred-and-one to three-hundred in the right wing and rooms three-hundred-and-one to four-hundred in the left. So on and so forth to the fifth story.”

       “You have eight hundred classrooms?” Hermione laughed. “Do they all have classes?”

       “Yes,” Wrigley said, starting to walk again.

       “ _Eight hundred_ different classes! Can you imagine?” She gawked. “How many students are even at this school?”

       “No, no, there are eight hundred classrooms. We’re advanced, we do big magic. Any classes involving a wand takes up two class rooms, so students have enough space. They’ll take one room and the room above it. The potions classes have so many ingredients that they have to take two rooms each as well, but they spread horizontally. There are also eight bathrooms on each floor, so it’s hardly eight hundred classes. It’s probably closer to five hundred. Well, five-hundred-and-forty. There are forty classes taught outside the building. Oh and five on the roof. Okay, five-hundred-and-forty-five.”

       “That’s still quite a lot of variety,” Hermione pointed out.

       “When you’re not on any set standard, that can happen,” Wrigley replied. “We make classes as we go.”

       “What about the rest of the building?” Luna sighed, staring at the floating lights. “You said there are four educational floors, but there are seven stories. I counted outside.”

       “Well, the top two floors are dormitories. They’re split in half: right wing for boys, left wing for girls. Between the two floors, there are also twenty huge studies. They’re wonderful, all stuffed with couches and chairs and tables. I definitely make use of them.”

       “How do you decide who sleeps where?” Neville asked. “We split into houses and then into years for rooms.”

       “We pair up into rooms,” Wrigley replied. “Each room has two beds and then space enough for extra furniture. They’re very nice. Altogether, I think there are two hundred rooms. Either two hundred or two-hundred-and-fifty. Something like that.”

       “The fifth floor, though, that’s my favorite,” he grinned. “That’s the library.”

       “You keep your library all the way up there?” Goyle laughed.

       “Well it’s perfect. Right below where we sleep so we can study before bed, but it’s out of the way of classrooms so we’re not disturbed during passing.”

       “What else is on that floor?” Padma asked politely.

       “Nothing,” Wrigley laughed. “The fifth floor is the library. It takes up the whole thing.”

       “Merlin’s pants,” Hermione whispered, eyes wide at the thought of it.

       “Ah, and here we are!” Wrigley said loudly, shocking the group just a bit. He’d led them to the windows at the back and then to the right again where double glass doors spread along a span of about a hundred meters. They looked to be exactly centered on the building. Again, each set of glass doors was wide open and they filed through them, coming out on a large, stone patio. It jutted out from the school about fifty feet and spanned nearly half the school. The far end tapered down in a huge stair case, all the way down to the base of the hill. Thick stone railings—waist high and of the same dark marbled stone as the building—extended on the left and right sides of the patio and down the stairs. Speckled around its surface were cast iron tables and chairs for students to relax at. Wrigley brought them to the stairs and they saw Pepper waiting for them, sitting on the edge of a huge structure.

       Right in the center of the stair case, a large sculpture had been erected. It depicted four full size, identical unicorns of the whitest marble all rearing on their hind legs, heads bowed and golden horns touching in a shared point. In the four gaps between the adult unicorns, four identical foals made out of gold and tottering on spindly little legs looked outwards, one in every direction. At its base, surrounding it, was a circular stone basin with a flower bed of red and yellow tulips. It was on the edge of this that Pepper was perched.

       “Those sculptures are so realistic!” Veronica gasped, pointing at the unicorns.

       “A student made that,” Pepper said simply, squinting up at them. “I like the foals. They look so clumsy. Anyway, this patio and these steps are where most students will sit and do homework on warm days. It’s nice to be able to look out at the grounds.”

       “Speaking of, why don’t all of you have a look around,” Wrigley laughed, sitting by his friend. “Feel free to ask questions.”

       The Hogwarts students ambled down the steps and looked out, awestruck.

       The Blackhearth grounds were sprawling and magnificent. More round, white pebbles came away from the gigantic stair case in another massive loop. In the center of this loop was another statue with a flowerbed, though much larger than the one on the stairs. This was a sculpture of a full size dragon in white marble with glittering gold horns. It was sitting on its haunches, tail curled around its legs, and wings splayed. The wings were made of frosted glass to give the impression of membrane. Along with the gold horns, the beast’s talons, ridges, and eyes were also gold. The dragon was facing away from the building and looked pensively outward, as though surveying his domain.

       No path came away from the pebble loop and no foot trails could be seen in the grass. But out, far to the right, large glass greenhouses and huge gardens stood by a crystal blue pond with a towering weeping willow. The water was so clear that, even from where they were standing, the students could see the roots of the tree winding down to the very bottom.

       Far to the left stood a narrow, but very tall stone building in the same style as the school. Large letters across its single set of doors read AIVIARY. Beside the aviary, large barns of grey wood with white trim stood with their doors open to a small corral. In the corral was one great chestnut hippogriff, one wing bandaged to its side.

       Farther back even still, directly forward from the school and almost touching the forest that circled the grounds, a massive lake filled a valley between hills. This lake had the same flawless blue water as the little pond and a sign was posted next to what looked like a few evenly spaced loops of metal beside it.

       “What’s that by the lake?” Harry asked, peering out.

       “That is the entrance to the aquariums,” Pepper replied. “The loops you can see are actually railing for the stairs. The aquariums are under the lake.”

       “How does that work?” Aaron asked.

       “Well, the bottom of the lake is glass,” Wrigley replied. “There’s rocks and sand and things in there, but you can look right into the habitats the animals make in there.

       “There are also tanks down there that hold the more dangerous animals or the very rare ones,” Pepper added. “We also have little pools, only about three feet deep, for convalescent animals. The shallow water keeps them from moving too much and worsening their conditions.”

       Harry looked out again and noticed that here and there, all over the grounds, were more statues done in white and gold. He could see one of a centaur with a golden bow, hooves, and tail in the center of a large flower garden. Another looked to be a gigantic spider, its great hairy body entirely white, with eyes and pincers of gold. The legs were perfectly crafted so that it looked as though it were crawling over the benches around it. Near the green houses, a statue of a sea serpent with a gold dorsal ridge, eyes, and water whiskers was broken into humps, to make it look like it was swimming through the grass.

       “Who made all these statues?” Ron asked, staring appreciatively at the dragon “This longhorn is very realistic, aside from being white instead of green, that is.”

       “A student made them,” Pepper shrugged. Wrigley sighed.

       “Can I just say—,”

       “No,” Pepper said. It wasn't a snap, but it sounded very final nonetheless.

       “Oh, fine,” Wrigley relented. “Anyway, we have various herbology and care of magical creatures classes out here. It’s also very common for students to lounge around on the grass after classes or on weekends.”

       “Where does your grounds keeper stay?” Draco asked, peering around.

       “We don’t have a grounds keeper,” Pepper laughed. “We’re a school for geniuses. All of this,” she waved an arm at the lawn, “is done entirely by students. I mean, sure, teachers help us plan things out, but we’re the maintenance crew here. That’s why there aren't any broom cupboards in the school either. It’s the students’ job to keep the school clean.”

       Draco opened his mouth, apparently framing a retort, but just then a glorious chiming of bells broke out and, as it faded, a low rumble built up growing louder until it was discernible as voices. Class had just finished and the Blackhearth students were filtering into the hallways.

       “We’ll finish the tour after passing,” Wrigley said. “What are your thoughts so far?”

       Wrigley was met with silence, as no one seemed to be able to find the words. Blackhearth was spectacular, and Harry couldn't believe they’d never known it existed.


	12. The Man in the Chair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who runs Blackhearth?

       The Hogwarts group sat down on the stone steps and watched the Blackhearth students change classes. A good number came up from the lawn and into the building, but no one seemed to be coming back outside. Wrigley and Pepper stared around at everyone moving past, occasionally waving at people they knew. The shift was quiet and polite; there was very little yelling or running, but a good amount of laughter.

       “How long is passing?” Draco asked.

       “Ten minutes,” Pepper replied. “It can take a while to get from, say, the aquariums to the fourth floor.”

       “Does no one come out on the patio during free periods?” The Slytherin girl, asked.

       “We don’t have free periods, Veronica,” Wrigley laughed. “Everyone that went to see Hogwarts was very jealous that you guys do. Our classes start at eight o’clock and end at five thirty.”

       “With no breaks?” Aaron, the Hufflepuff boy, gawked.

       “Well, we do get lunch,” Pepper replied. “Eleven twenty to twelve, which is where everyone is going now. There’s no formal passing period before or after lunch though, it’s just included in the time.”

       “Each class is one hour long,” Wrigley continued. “We have seven classes each day, unless you’re lucky enough to get out of one, like I just did.”

       “Is that very common?” Ron asked.

       “No, it’s actually very rare. I think the only reason that I was allowed out is that I have a ministry job, so I don’t spend much time in classes anyway.”

       “How does that work?” Hermione said, squinting in the sun. It was much sunnier in America than in England.

       “Well, you can’t work _and_ attend school until you’re outside of curriculum in over half the core fields of study,” Wrigley replied.

       “That means any five out of Charms, Potions, History of Magic, Creature Studies, Defensive Magic, Herbology, Transfiguration, Physical Education, and Muggle Studies,” Pepper recited, counting everything off on her fingers. “I think that’s all nine of them, right? That’s core?”

       “Yes, the rest are electives,” Wrigley nodded. “But physical education is excluded.”

       “Physical education?” Harry asked, remembering the class from his days in a muggle school. “Like, sports and such? You have that here?”

       “Yeah, but you can’t get out of it,” Pepper replied. “You have to go to the class or log at least three hours a week in The Facility.”

       “What’s that?”

       “All in good time,” Wrigley laughed. “We haven’t finished the tour yet. Anyway, if you’re outside of at least five core fields, you can enter a work study, which is an internship or apprenticeship. You’ll spend half of the day at a job and half of the day in class. If you’re outside of all but two, you can actually get a paid position and work, but it’s tough. It’s best if you’re outside curriculum in all your core classes first.”

       “I’m still not completely sure I understand what that means,” Padma sighed. “Being ‘outside of curriculum.’”

       “It means that you are past the globally required level of understanding for a given subject,” Pepper said, clearly reciting a memorized definition. “If you've passed the N.E.W.T. for a class, essentially.”

       “Oh,” Padma said, smiling. “That makes sense.”

       “So are most students working?” Luna asked. “Does everyone here have a job?”

       “No, it’s usually only the older students that do,” Wrigley laughed. “It can be tough to meet the requirements. It’s…hard to explain.”

       “What is?” Someone asked, joining the group. Everyone was shocked to see the long frame of Nymeria Hawthorne looming over them. There were many nervous _Hellos_ from the Hogwarts students, but Pepper hugged her and Wrigley kissed her cheek.

       “Hello sweetie,” he smiled, making a place for her to sit. “We were just talking about work studies and such.”

       “And what part of it is hard to explain?”

       “Why not everyone is currently in one.”

       “Ah,” she smiled, nodding. “Yes, that _is_ a tough one. I’d be glad to take a stab at it, but first, what are all of you doing out here?”

       “Waiting for passing to end,” Draco replied.

       “Well, I’d say it’s done,” she replied. “When I came out, pretty much everyone was in the Main Hall.”

       “Why aren't you?”

       “Because a certain Mr. Johnson that, not ten minutes ago, invited me to eat with him did not show up for our date,” she teased. “Pepper wasn’t there either, so I just went where the murmurs led me.”

       “The murmurs?”

       “Everyone was talking about the group of people sitting on the back steps,” she laughed. “Now, work studies?”

       “Yes,” Wrigley smiled. “Do your best with it.”

       “Well,” Nym sighed, obviously thinking about how to word it. “As I’m sure they've mentioned, you have to be outside of curriculum—past the N.E.W.T. level—in over half the core fields to get a work study, and even more for a job. They've talked about this?” The students nodded. “Good, okay. We have a starting point,” Nym continued. “Some students here are outside after their fifth year, because our first year is more advanced than yours. I've looked into it and we essentially start at what you would understand to be a third year level. What can be harder to understand is that many of our students can have a lot of trouble getting outside of curriculum. Most people here have a pretty specific area of expertise; they’ll excel in that and many of the related areas. But the unrelated courses can be a struggle and can take a long time to get through.”

       “For me,” Wrigley said. “I was very good with history and muggle studies and reasonably good with everything else except potions. I am horrible at potions. It took me eight years to pass my N.E.W.T.”

       “I happen to be terrible with dates,” Pepper laughed. “I got through history in six years, but I had to have a lot of tutoring. Mostly from Wrigley.”

       “Often, students will struggle in just as many classes as they excel in, so it can be very difficult to become eligible for a work study or a paid position,” Nym explained. “It is unusual for someone to manage either before their seventh or eighth year, and even then, only about a third of students will.”

       “Wow,” said Michael from Ravenclaw. “I didn't think about that. There are a lot of students in my house that are a bit like that: very clever in one area, but then just alright or not very good at all in the others.”

       “Nymsie is an exception,” Pepper said, smiling. Nym rolled her eyes.

       “Oh, let us brag!” Wrigley laughed. Nym didn't say anything, so Pepper went ahead.

       “Blackhearth is famous for the abilities of its students, but Nym, here, is considered gifted even among the rest of us. I don’t know of anyone else in this school—or ever—that can concentrate their magic enough to perform full spells without a wand.”

       “You can do that?” Harry gawked.

       “Yes.”

       “When she does use her wand,” Pepper continued. “She typically has to use nonverbal spells because her verbal incantations are wicked. She gave a verbal disarming spell in class in our second year and everyone’s wand shot out of their hands, and I think a few people in the next class room over too. Now when she does it, it can clear a building.” Nym shrugged and looked a little pink in her cheeks. She didn't seem to be enjoying this attention. She also seemed to have much less to say when the topic was her own talent. “And her jinxes and stuff are deadly.”

       “If she casts a stunning spell verbally when she’s angry,” Wrigley said, “It can kill someone.”

       “Yeah,” Pepper agreed in the stunned silence. “We were practicing on cattle once, in Defensive Magic, and someone ticked her off and her cow like, imploded. It looked like a balloon with the air taken out. She’s been outside of curriculum in that class ever since, and that was first year.”

       “She’s also one of the youngest witches ever to become an animagus,” Wrigley grinned. “You all saw her; she’s magnificent, isn't she? What kind of dragon do you turn into again?”

       “A Hebridean Black,” Ron said immediately.

       “You know dragons?” Nym asked.

       “My brother works with them,” he shrugged.

       “Nym is really atypical,” Pepper said, speaking over them. “No one else has ever burned through the courses taught here as quickly as she has.”

       “I’m a freak among the oddities,” Nym said, smiling tightly. “Now, is there more tour to give? Bethany was talking to me about this and it is supposed to be done by the end of lunch.”

       “Oh, I didn't know that,” Pepper laughed, leaping up. “Come on! We’ll have to hurry!” Everyone scrambled to their feet but, just as they were about to leave, there was a muffled voice shouting. Nym pulled a small mirror out of her robe pocket.

       “Hawthorne, the minister has changed his mind. Leaving in twenty minutes.”

       “Yes, sir,” she said, stowing the mirror back in her pocket. “Enjoy the rest of your tour, I have to go to work.”

       “Dinner?” Wrigley asked.

       “If you actually show up this time,” she laughed, jogging back into the building. “I hope to see some of you applying for my class!” She waved and the group set off down to the lawn. They walked closer to each structure out there.

       “We’ll only go into the aquariums,” Pepper said. “You’ll see the other buildings in your classes, so I don’t want to ruin all the surprises.”

       It was a very long walk to the lake and the stairs went down a surprising distance. The room they walked into was very large and dim, but not dark. The only light there filtered down from the opening at the top of the stairs and from the huge lake up above.

       “Wow,” Harry whispered, looking at the ceiling. He could see everything, every little home the creatures had carved out at the bottom of the lake. He was still looking up when his leg bumped against something. He glanced down and shouted. A massive serpent was coiled in a low tank, wriggling just enough to show that it was alive. It’s massive, scaly head was tilted up and it was staring at Harry with huge, yellow green eyes. It had long whiskers that twitched toward him and huge gills with jagged edges.

       “Oh, Harry, it’s okay!” Pepper said, rushing over. “That’s a serpent that was found washed up on shore on the New York coast line. He got hit by a boat and he broke a lot of ribs. We've got him here to rest up. This is one of the convalescent tanks I was telling you about. You can touch him, if you want.”

       “No, thank you,” Harry laughed. “I think I’ll pass.”

       “Suit yourself,” Wrigley called. “Now, once you've all had a look around if you could please join me over here, I will lead you to The Facility." The students gathered around him and he pushed on the blank wall behind him. It gave way and opened to a very brightly lit hallway.

       “There is another entrance to The Facility in the kitchens, up at the school, but that is for really special people, like training athletes and kids with broken legs. This is the student entrance,” Wrigley explained. “They purposely put it as far away from the school as was reasonable, so that you have to walk a little extra. This hallway is also extremely long, so, buckle up.”

       “Just be glad you don’t have to run it, like we usually do,” Pepper laughed, herding everyone through the door. She closed it behind herself and they set off. This hall way was very wide, at least wide enough for two cars to drive through. The walls were black and up above were more of those floating orbs. Wrigley was right, it was exceedingly long. It went back in the opposite direction they’d come, toward the school, but there seemed to be a decline to it: they were walking further underground. Finally, they reached the end and there was another stair case. Wrigley led them all down and they came to a series of double doors.

       “Welcome to The Facility, our athletic training center,” Wrigley smiled, pushing one open. All the students walked through and their jaws dropped. The Facility was absolutely massive, perhaps half as long and wide as the school.

       The entrance led to a sort of kiosk which was manned by an obscenely muscular man with a navy blue vest on. Behind this man were all sorts of equipment, like balls, rackets, goggles, flippers, and even air tanks.

       “Hello and welcome,” the man said, examining the group. “Dry sport is to your left, aquatic is to your right. The pitch has been reserved until six thirty.”

       “Thank you, professor,” Pepper said, smiling at him. The man nodded and continued surveying the group. “You heard him, dry to the left, wet to the right. Have a look around.”

       The group dispersed and Harry, for one, was absolutely amazed. They went to the left first and saw all manner of weights, bikes, treadmills, and courts. There were spaces for tennis, basketball, soccer, and even a few huge sand pits for volleyball. They wandered around to the other side and looked through the aquatic sport section. Over here were numerous lap pools, a diving pool, and one very large pool that was full of murky black water.

       “What’s that?” Harry asked, looking into it.

       “That is the dive tank,” Pepper replied. “You can take scuba gear and practice in there. We also have like, mock rescues and things. We keep the creepy creatures in there.”

       “There are animals in there?”

       “After visiting your school, I feel qualified to say it’s a lot like the Black Lake at Hogwarts. Only we made it that way.”

       “Ah.”

       “Hey!” Someone called. Harry and Pepper turned around to see Draco pointing at another set of doors at the back of the facility. “Where do these lead?”

       “That, my friend, is where we keep our quidditch pitch,” Wrigley replied. “I know America is better known as Quadpot country—a few games have been known to break out on the lawn on the weekends—but this is our pitch. We keep it in a dome that fits under the hill so that we can control the conditions. It’s a weather dome.”

       “A what?” Hermione asked.

       “A weather dome. It can make it 150 degrees and sunny, negative thirty with a blizzard, or gale force winds and a hurricane: we can create any and all weather conditions in there for players to practice.“

       “What benefit is that?” Neville asked. “I mean, if your only pitch is indoors, why would you need to change the conditions for your teams?”

       “Oh, we only have one team,” Pepper said. “And we change the conditions for the benefit of the other teams that come here. You see, professional quidditch teams from all over the world come here, to our dome, to practice. We can mimic the conditions of their home country as well as the conditions of whatever country they’ll play in next. It’s really an amazing thing.”

       “Wow,” Harry said again, staring at the doors. He wanted nothing more than to go through them and see what it was like in there. “Wow.” They stayed in The Facility for a while longer before going back out the long hallway and onto the lawn. As they came up, they saw Blackhearth students walking toward them. There were students all over the lawn; they seemed to be heading back to class.

       “Take them to the Main Hall,” someone one said. They all turned to see Bethany glaring at Pepper. “They’re supposed to eat while we’re in class. Then they go up to their rooms to unpack. Then you take them to the library at three. They’ll eat dinner with all of us at five.”

       “Thanks Beth!” Pepper called, waving as the blond girl stormed off. “She is just so helpful. Alright, on to lunch!” They walked back along the way to the stairs at the back of the school. As they passed the unicorn sculpture, the bells chimed once more, signaling the start of class.

       “I am not sure what you’re going to be fed,” Pepper said over her shoulder as they walked into the school. “You should really probably be with Bethany, but oh well, we’ll make it work. I haven’t been called to the Throne so far, so I don’t think I’m in trouble for having you. Or at least not in any more trouble than Bethany is for leaving you.” They hurried along back to the giant stair case and then turned left to get back to the Main Hall.

       “Oh, look at that!” Wrigley laughed, walking down the short stair case. “This is just the cutest thing I've ever seen.” At the front of the hall, near the High Throne, were three round tables with six places each, all set with linens, china, silverware, and floral centerpieces. Each plate was also covered with a small silver dome.

       “What does it look like for a normal lunch?” Padma asked.

       “Well, less adorable because the room is full of tables. I just think it’s sweet that they've left just enough here for the group.” Wrigley led them over to them and everyone took a seat, Luna happily taking the sixth spot at the Gryffindor table. The Ravenclaws sat with the Hufflepuffs and Wrigley and Pepper took their seats with the Slytherins. As soon as everyone was settled, the students lifted off their domes.

       “There’s no food,” Ron said sullenly. “There’s just paper.” Everyone had a blank slip of paper on their plates. Wrigley and Pepper pulled theirs off and set their domes back down.

       “This is how we eat,” Pepper explained. “I don’t mean we eat the paper, don’t panic. But to get our food, we have to answer a question. It’s a bit like how the Ravenclaws get into their dormitory. When you touch your paper, a question will show up. Put your cover back on and answer the question aloud.”

       “Just to warn you, sometimes they are really hard,” Wrigley laughed. “There is no penalty for working in groups. For example, my question is _Who was the first ever headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?_ Can anyone help me?”

       “Phydilla Spore,” said Hermione and Neville together.

       “She was an herbologist,” Neville explained.

       “She succeeded the first headmaster,” Hermione added.

       “Fascinating,” Wrigley said, sounding genuinely interested. Then he looked at his sliver cover and said, “Phydilla Spore!” The cover vanished immediately and he was left staring at a plate full of roast pork loin, grilled asparagus, and red potatoes. Before each plate were two glasses: one of Wrigley’s filled with water and the other with a gold juice. He tasted it and smiled at Pepper.

       “Woman,” he said. “We have apple juice.”

       “Okay, okay, I’m next,” she laughed, looking at her slip. “Yes! I know this one! _What is a Fwooper and what is it best known for?_ A Fwooper is an African bird that is best known for its song, which will drive the listener to insanity.” Pepper’s cover vanished and her glasses filled as well. “Go ahead, all of you. Give it a try.”

       “When she said it was like our dormitory, I thought they’d be riddles,” Luna sighed. “I like riddles. Oh! Does anyone know where the Slytherin Common room is?”

       “Under the lake,” said Ron and Harry. They glanced at each other before they both burst out laughing. Luna repeated their answer to her cover and it vanished. Everyone in the group got through their questions. Some were like Pepper’s–general knowledge–but many were specific to Hogwarts, which Harry thought was nice. Draco and a Hufflepuff prefect both had to ask Neville for help with theirs, as they were herbology based and very difficult. Eventually, though, everyone had food and they were happily dining.

       “If you finish anything and you want more,” Wrigley called toward the end of the meal, “you have to do something a little strange: you have to pay a genuine compliment to the person on your left and tap the empty spot on your plate with your fork.”

       Ron turned to Ginny, who had ended up on his left, and said, “You have a really fantastic hair color.” He tapped a spot on his plate and more potatoes appeared. Ginny rolled her eyes, but still laughed. They could hear the others complimenting their table mates and Wrigley was laughing very hard at something. Pepper turned to him and declared loudly, “You are one clever bastard, Wrigley Johnson,” before tapping her plate for more asparagus. Draco was poking boredly at his plate, but smiled at this exchange. However, as he was poking the remnants of his potatoes, more appeared.

       “Hey,” Goyle said, looking down at his friend’s plate. “I didn't hear any compliment.”

       “I didn't want any more potatoes,” Draco laughed, sitting up. “What happened? I didn't do it.” Wrigley was in tears from laughing so hard and Pepper was chuckling as well.

       “You don’t have to compliment anyone at all, do you,” Padma laughed. “You just have to tap the plate.” Wrigley nodded as he gasped for air. The joke made the students laugh quite a bit and, for fun, they continued to compliment one another.

       After about fifteen more minutes, Pepper stood up and asked, “Is everyone full?” She received many nods and satisfied groans. The food was fantastic.

       “When you’re done, set your silverware on your plates,” she instructed, doing so herself. Her cover reappeared. The Hogwarts students all did the same and watched their covers return and their glasses drain.

       “We have about ten minutes until the bells ring,” she declared. “If we wait until they do, we can watch them go off.” She pointed up and everyone’s eyes followed.

       “Let’s wait,” declared Luna. “I want to see them.” The general noises that met this were of approval and everyone sat back in their chairs.

       “Any questions while we’re here?” Wrigley offered. Hermione stuck her hand in the air. “Yes, Hermione Granger?” He smiled.

       “Who works in your kitchens?” She asked. “At Hogwarts, we employ house elves.”

       “We have a mixed staff,” Pepper replied. “Blackhearth has some house elves, but also a fair amount of squibs and people who can have a hard time finding work, like werewolves or elderly witches and wizards. I think the kitchen staff totals out to about sixty beings. Anything else?”

       “What happens if no one in the room knows the answer to the question on your plate?” Said the Slytherin girl.

       “Well, Veronica,” Wrigley smiled. He had clearly memorized everyone’s name as soon as Ginny had recited them. “That is very unlikely, as the professors write them and during the formal meal times, they are in the hall as well.”

       “Does that chair ever freak you out?” asked the Hufflepuff boy.

       “Sometimes,” Pepper laughed. “Wrigley, can you help me with his name?”

       “That is Aaron Grimes, dear.”

       “You see, Aaron,” she continued, “we are all very well aware that it is unconventional to have a chair as a headmaster. But the Throne is invaluable; he sees everything, and that is very important in a school like this, where everyone and their mother knows all the nastiest hexes.”

       “He’s not really a headmaster though,” Harry blurted. “I mean, we can speak to our headmasters. So can our professors. They lead the school. He’s just discipline.”

       “No, he’s not,” Wrigley replied. “He’s a massive help to security too. Do you all remember, when we came to your school, we talked about how we've defended ours?” They all nodded. “People don’t often attack here simply because they want to kill students. We’re a stronghold; a safe haven. Often, when the need arises, the ministry will bring people here and we are tasked with their protection. Blackhearth is very academic, yes, but we all have a job here as well. Each student is put into a specific division in their first year and they learn their positions and tasks; each Professor does the same. Blackhearth, the man in the Throne, sees _everything_ in this school; when we are under attack, someone always has the job to sit with him and relay his messages. He tells us where to go; he makes the calls.

       “So while he may not be the ideal choice for an academic headmaster, he is ideal for this school. Academic tasks are shared among the professors; those responsibilities can be divided. But as a general, Blackhearth is irreplaceable.”

       This message sat like a stone in the chests of the students present. They had been enjoying their visit, they’d been charmed by their surroundings and the cheerful dispositions of their guides, but they’d forgotten why Blackhearth had wanted this exchange in the first place. They were a school of students that had all seen battle. It was difficult to picture Wrigley or Pepper dueling or doing anything at all unkind, but as Harry looked around at the Hogwarts students, he found it was hard to picture any of them doing the same. But just last year, that’s exactly what had happened.

       They all sat in silence, processing what they’d heard, until the bells overhead began to ring. Luna was the only one that bothered to look up.


	13. Hogwarts is Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and friends settle in for their stay at Blackhearth and get to ask some nagging questions.

       “Harry,” Ron said, coming into his room. “Oh, hey Neville.” Harry and Neville had been paired together. Ron had been put with Evan next door. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff boy were sharing and a third bed had been added to one room so the Slytherins were all together.

       “This place is weird, isn’t it?” Ron said, sitting on Harry’s bed.

       “I think it’s amazing,” Neville replied, hanging up his clothes. Their cases had been waiting for them when they got to their rooms.

       “Well, yeah, sure,” Ron allowed. “It’s ruddy brilliant. But it’s weird too. I mean, the grounds and school are impressive, but what Wrigley said at lunch is strange. You don’t think the ministry will turn Hogwarts into something like this now, do you?”

       “No,” Harry sighed. “The kids here are all exceptionally good; our school just rose to the occasion. There were plenty of us there that weren’t ready—had no idea what to do—but we tried to help. These kids are trained for it.”

       “That’s it, though, isn’t it?” said Neville. “They’re trained. Hogwarts students could be trained.”

       “Or they could stay students,” Harry snapped, turning around. “I don’t know about you, but it was hard enough going past that graveyard this year. I don’t want to see it get any larger.”

       “I’m sorry,” said a voice at the door. It was Wrigley, come to check on their progress. “I’ll come back later.”

       “No, it’s fine,” Harry said, waving him in. “We’re just comparing schools.”

       “We’re wondering if Hogwarts will be like Blackhearth now,” Ron explained. “If we’ll be a stronghold or whatever.”

       “No, I don’t think you will,” the brown haired man sighed, taking a seat on Neville’s desk. “The Slytherin boys were just asking the same thing. I understand the panic, but that’s not the point of the exchange.”

       “What _is_ the point of the exchange?” Harry asked.

       “We wanted to meet you,” he shrugged. “What you did at Hogwarts was amazing. You’re not trained, you didn’t have to, no one was asking you to help, but you did anyway. The students at your school protected Hogwarts—and you, specifically, Harry—because they felt it was right. We do it here because we think that too, but we don’t have an option to choose not to. We believe in it, sure, but we’re trained and conditioned not to think otherwise. You all decided of your own accord; you organized on the fly. We were impressed and we asked the professors if something could be arranged.”

       “The students asked?”

       “Yes. I was elected to give the official persuasive presentation at the end of last year. It went over very well. Nym was a huge supporter.”

       “Really?” Ron said, coming closer.

       “Oh yes, I think she might have been the first one to say out loud that the schools should meet. The idea spread like wildfire and about half the school was in the library after classes, planning out our argument. We were honored that your headmistress accepted.

       “But Harry,” he said, looking over at him. “I couldn’t help but hear your comment about the new addition to your grounds.”

       “The cemetery.”

       “Yes. Do you know how many headstones there are?”

       “No.”

       “Sixty-seven.”

       “How do you know that?” Neville asked.

       “I counted,” Wrigley said, giving a sad smile. “Nym and I helped on the digging crew.”

       “I thought Nym helped with repairs,” Harry said.

       “She did. She organized and led repairs. We Blackhearthers fixed your school for you. And I know it’s not a pretty addition, but we dug those graves as well.”

       “Why?”

       “Because we know it’s hard,” he said, looking down at his shoes. “We know it’s hard to go back to a battlefield and fix it up; to make it look like nothing happened. We’ve done it a few times over. Speaking only for myself, I’ve worked on a repair detail seven times while I’ve been here. This school is old; it was built just a few decades after the discovery of the continent, but it gets wrecked all the time. Each time, we pick up the pieces and we start over. It’s been completely rebuilt at least three times. It didn’t look anything like this at first.

       “But Hogwarts has been Hogwarts since its construction. And it’s heartbreaking to rebuild, and you’ve all already been through so much, that we thought we’d take care of it for you. Give you one less thing to worry about.”

       “I…I didn’t know any of that.”

       “Me neither,” Ron murmured. Neville nodded.

       “Sixty-seven graves on Hogwarts’ grounds are sixty-seven too many,” Wrigley said. “But those people deserve to be remembered every day, for doing what they didn’t have to.”

       “Do you have a grave yard here?” Neville asked.

       “We do, sort of.”

       “Sort of?”

       “There is a weird one, in the woods behind the lake. It’s very quiet out there; you can go if you’d like. There aren’t head stones; we don’t bury bodies. We cremate them, so it’s all urns. If I’m being honest, it’s not as large as you’d expect; we don’t lose very many. But there around three hundred out there.”

       “You’ve only ever lost three hundred people?”

       “No, we’ve lost more, but many times the families take the remains. Very few stay here.”

       “Doesn’t it depress you to talk about things like this?” Harry asked. “You seem very calm about all of it.”

       “It’s how we operate here,” Wrigley sighed. “It’s different, isn’t it?”

       “Yeah.”

       “Yeah,” he nodded. “But you don’t have to worry about Hogwarts ever becoming like Blackhearth. That’s not…no one wants that to happen.”

       “Are you sure? You can promise that?” Harry demanded. Wrigley stood up and looked at all of them very seriously.

       “I promise you that Hogwarts will never become like Blackhearth. Now,” he sighed, “I came in here to collect all of you so we could find the girls and go to the library. Of course, I know you all probably have more to talk about now. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

       “I’m done,” Harry said, looking over at Neville.

       “Yeah, alright,” he shrugged. “Let’s go.”

       “You’re sure?”

       They all nodded and Wrigley led them into the hall where the rest of the group was waiting. Draco nodded at Wrigley as he walked over and Wrigley gave him a one armed hug as he walked past. Harry felt the same flicker of annoyance at this affection that he always felt. It bothered him beyond reason that Draco was familiar with students here. Wrigley started to take the group back toward the stair case when a boy in a disheveled uniform came trumping up. He had a huge duffle bag over his shoulder, a sleek racing broom clutched in one hand and a large rock in the other. He also had jet black Mohawk that stood up in long spikes from his head.

       “Wriggle and Giggle!” He said, smiling and walking over. “How you doin’ man? Don’t you have class?”

       “I’m leading the Hogwarts tour,” Wrigley laughed. “Don’t you have practice? I thought you were going to be at the pitch until six thirty.”

       “Yeah, that was the plan til the Harpies shut us down.”

       “Where’d you get the rock?”

       “It’s not a rock,” the boy grinned. He was missing an incisor on the left side. “It’s what’s left of the practice bludger. Bridgette blew it to smithereens. That babe packs a powerful hit.”

       “So she’s coming along then?”

       “She’s there; she’s arrived.”

       “Sorry, all of you,” Wrigley said, suddenly turning around. “That was incredibly rude of me. This is Jeffrey Matherson—Jeff—my roommate. He is an accomplished athletic trainer, particularly with respect to quidditch. Right now, the Holyhead Harpies are at our pitch and he has been working with their new beater Bridgette Cromwell.”

       “Wicked,” Ron said, a huge smile on his face.

       “Yeah, it’s not a bad gig,” Jeff laughed. “No dress code, as you can tell. But, since practice is over, I had to put on the uniform—“

       “Sort of,” Wrigley said, looking him over.

       “I sort of put on my uniform and now I have to go to history. Life is horrible, school is hard, you’re all wonderful, see you later.” He waved and hauled all of his belongings off in the opposite direction. Wrigley smiled, shook his head, and led them down the stair case to the fourth floor and straight down a hall to the other giant stair case. To everyone’s surprise, they were able to walk right up to the girls’ floors.

       “Pepper!” Wrigley shouted.

       “By my room!” She called back. Wrigley took them up to the top floor and over to a door that read **168: Hawthorne/Spicer**. Pepper was standing just a few doors away and the girls were trickling into the hallway.

       “The boys can be up here?” Ginny said. “At Hogwarts, they’re not allowed in the dormitory.”

       “We can’t go in the rooms of the other gender after 5:00pm,” Pepper said, “but we can be in the hall. Now come on; next stop, the library!”

       Pepper and Wrigley took the entire group two floors down and, as they emerged from the stair case, everyone’s jaws dropped. Hermione actually squealed.

       “Here it is,” Pepper grinned. “Go wild.” Hermione took off sprinting, Ginny right on her heels. The library was extraordinary. While the rest of the school was done in grey, the library was all done in shades of gold. In place of the floating spheres, there were massive chandeliers lighting the room. All the chairs were done in powder blue velvet and the tables were deep mahogany. The most impressive part, though, was the books. There were shelves upon shelves upon shelves of books.

       “Where is the librarian?” Ron asked, peering around.

       “We don’t have one,” Wrigley laughed. “We have the Throne. He makes sure we bring our books back. It’s an honor code.”

       “A mile long library with no librarian,” Ron whispered. “Brilliant.”

       Harry, Ron, Neville, and Luna walked for a while. Luna stared up at the ceiling as they went. When they came to the point where the room opened to the Main Hall, they saw that there were towering book cases leaned against crystal walls. If they peeked between the books, they could see the bottoms of the bells. Harry guessed that the walls must keep the sound out, or at least muffle it.

       “I like this place,” Luna said.

       “I do too,” Neville smiled. “But I’m glad we’ll never be like them.”

       “Why’s that?” She asked.

       “It’s good for there to be just one,” Neville replied. “Just one place like this; just one Blackhearth. Hogwarts is going to stay Hogwarts.” Neville looked over and Harry and Ron. Harry nodded at him. Ron patted his shoulder.

       Blackhearth would be Blackhearth.

       Hogwarts would be Hogwarts.

       And this would be an adventure.


	14. Duratus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry attends a few classes at a new school and learns a bone-chilling new spell.

       “These stairs,” Ron said, shaking his head. He, Harry, and Neville were making their way down to breakfast. “I don’t know how they manage.”

       “What about all the ones at Hogwarts,” Harry laughed. “We’ve got about a billion stair cases. And ours move around. At least these ones stay put.”

       “Yeah, why d’you suppose that is?” Neville asked. “I mean, not just the stairs. Hogwarts has all kinds of silly things like moving stairs, the vanishing step, and all our ghosts. There’s none of that here.”

       “Ghosts are people that were too scared to go on,” Harry pointed out. “I bet they don’t get many of those types around here.”

       “Probably not,” Neville smiled. The three walked to the bottom of the stairs and then to the Main Hall. When they got there, the room was transformed. There were round tables—each with six chairs—all around. At the front of the room sat the professors. They took up three tables in all: one on either side of the High Throne, and then one long one on the floor at the base of it. Harry peered around the room and caught sight of Wrigley and Pepper.

       They were seated at a table toward the back of the room and had been joined by Nym, Julian, and a woman Harry didn’t know. She had dark skin, glasses with red frames, and wild, shiny curls that bounced as she laughed. Julian seemed to have everyone at their table in hysterics.

       “Oh, there’s Mauve!” Neville said happily, waving in the direction of that table. The girl with the glasses saw him and waved back, a huge smile on her face. She beckoned and Neville went toward her.

       “Good luck!” He called over his shoulder. Harry and Ron would need it.

       When they’d woken up that day, each Hogwarts student had found a gold envelope on their night stands with a student’s name and their schedule: these were the people they’d each been assigned to shadow that day. Ron was looking for a boy called Glen Arnolds, while Harry needed Wrigley’s roommate, Jeffrey Matherson.

       “Have you found yours yet?” Hermione asked as she and Ginny walked over to them.

       “No, I can’t see his Mohawk. Who are you looking for?”

       “I need Claire Robin,” Hermione replied. “Ginny needs Thomas Applegate.”

       The other Hogwarts students were milling about in much the same way as the four friends, completely unsure of what to do. However, a professor at the front of the room stood and cleared her throat. The entire hall full of Blackhearth students went silent immediately.

       “I believe,” said the professor, “that all of our guests have joined us.” It was Grewall, the one that had come to Hogwarts. “Now, to assist them in locating the other half of their pair, I would like every Blackhearth student that is participating today to stand up and declare their name and the name of their shadow. Please—“

       “JEFFERY MATHERSON AND HARRY POTTER!” Someone roared. Everyone turned to see Jeff standing alone giving Harry two-thumbs-up.

       “Thank you, Mr. Matherson,” Grewall sighed, rolling her eyes. “As I was saying, please declare yourselves in alphabetical order. You all know one another. Begin.”

       Fifteen Blackhearth students stood and called themselves off.

       “Michael Aarons and Dylan Varner.”

       “Thomas Applegate and Ginny Weasley.”

       “Glen Arnolds and Ron Weasley.”

       “Mauve Cleary and Neville Longbottom.” The pair high-fived before she sat down.

       “Jordan Derby and Evan Dolohov.”

       “Victoria Fredricks and Helen Pobble.”

       “Kyle Jones and Draco Malfoy.”

       “Jeffery Matherson and Harry Potter.”

       “Katie Marks and Veronica Snipe.”

       “Claire Robin and Hermione Granger.”

       “Tyler Rodham and Gregory Goyle.”

       “Penelope Spicer and Luna Lovegood.”

       “Gina Smith and Michael Downey.”

       “Brittany Tilling and Padma Patil.”

       “Bradley Webster and Aaron Grimes.”

       Everyone made their way to their assigned partner. Jeff waved at Harry as he approached. He had his hair tied back in a tiny bun on the back of his head and his uniform was impeccable.

       “Wrigley makes me polish up in the mornings,” he laughed, following Harry’s gaze. “And the ‘hawk would be a problem today. You’ll see. Anyway, come on over and meet my band of thugs.” He gestured at the people sitting at his table all of whom gave tiny waves. Harry took an empty seat and everyone introduced themselves.

       “I’m Lisa,” said a girl with blue hair. “I’m Jeff’s girlfriend.”

       “I’m Rudy,” said a very tall, very thin boy. “We’re just, ah, friends.”

       “Hank,” said another very large and very muscular boy. “Jeff’s teammate. I’m the other beater. Rudy is the seeker, but he never remembers to tell people.”

       “He’s the second string seeker,” laughed the last person at the table. She had boyishly short brown hair and big lips. “I’m Vanessa, first string.”

       “I’m a seeker,” Harry replied. “I—ah, well I was. On the Gryffindor team.”

       “So I’ve heard,” Jeff praised, thumping his back. “That’s why I petitioned for you. I wanted you, the Malfoy kid, or ah…the red head.”

       “Ron?”

       “Nope, the girl one.”

       “Oh, Ginny,” Harry smiled. “Ginny Weasley.”

       “Look at that face!” Lisa laughed. “You like her, don’t you? Is she your girlfriend?”

       “Yeah.”

       “She’s gorgeous,” she smiled. “Tell her straight from me.”

       “Will do.”

       “Ah, I would recommend eating,” Jeff interrupted. “We have a big day.” Harry lifted his cover and read his question aloud.

       “ _How many names are there for the plant Acontium?_ I don’t even know what that is, do you?”

       “It’s wolfsbane,” Hank said, mouth full of toast.

       “What the hell else do you call it?” Jeff mused. “Wolfsbane, aconite, monkshood…um…”

       “There’s nine names,” Rudy sighed. “Nine.”

       “Rudy with the save!” Laughed Jeff. Rudy seemed embarrassed by the praise, but still smiled. Harry repeated the answer and his cover vanished, revealing a plate laden with eggs, bacon, toast, and potatoes. He and the rest of his table ate until they were achingly full—Jeff’s friends telling funny stories about each other all the while—and then started to gather their things.

       “We have defensive magic first,” Jeff said, pulling his school bag from under the table. “Rudy-Doody is going to accompany us. Then we’ll go through purgatory and finally, we’ll meet up with the stunningly beautiful Lisa—“

       “In hell,” she finished, smiling at him. He blew her a kiss and he, Harry, and Rudy started toward the right exit of the hall.

       “What do you mean we’ll meet up with her in hell?” Harry asked.

       “I don’t like the classes. You’ll see. It’s rough.”

       “I got through those in my fourth year,” Rudy laughed.

       “Yeah, well, fantastic,” Jeff sneered, shoving his friend a little. “You didn’t finish charms until your eighth, so bite me.”

       “Yeah, because charms is actually challenging.” They’d reached the stair cases and started to climb.

       “We’re going to the third floor, by the way,” Jeff explained, turning back to Harry. “Any questions before we arrive at our intended destination?”

       “Yeah,” Harry laughed. “Why’s it called ‘Defensive Magic?’ At Hogwarts, we call it Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

       “Well, that’s the thing,” Jeff replied, steering Harry to the left. “Not everything you need to defend yourself from is Dark Magic. I mean, would you call Expelliarmus a Dark spell?”

       “No.”

       “Exactly, but you still need to know how to defend against it to keep from losing your wand.”

       “I see your point.”

       “This is us,” Rudy said, opening a door to his right. They walked in and Harry suddenly felt much more at home. While the school itself was streamlined and simple, the classroom they entered had all the diagrams, models, and ominous looking things in jars that a Hogwarts classroom did. Curiously, though, all the desks had been moved to the perimeter of the room. The professor, a tall, grey haired man in a navy robe, was speaking to a few other students at the front of the room.

       “What?” Jeff whispered, looking around the room. “Where’s Temp?”

       “Who?”

       “Tempest,” Rudy explained, also very hushed. “Tempy is part of our little gang in this class.”

       “As in Tempest Hawthorne?” Harry asked.

       “The same.”

       “Ms. Hawthorne is meeting a client today,” the professor explained, coming up to them. Harry was shocked he’d been able to hear the conversation at all. “The elegance of her spellwork will be missed. Who is our guest?”

       “This is my shadow for the day, Harry Potter,” Jeff said proudly. “He’s a Hogwarts seventh year and a seeker.”

       “A good match for you then, especially with today being—“

       “Shh, it’s still a surprise!”

       “You’ll enjoy this afternoon, Mr. Potter,” the professor said, winking. “I’m Olin Tevic, by the way. Of course, for you—today—it’s Professor Tevic.”

       “Got it,” Harry smiled. Suddenly, there was a terrific clamor of ringing bells and Professor Tevic called for attention.

       “Your essays,” he called. “Were passable. A few seemed under-researched—“ he paused to look at one girl in particular who rolled her eyes—“but, overall, well done. You may move on to practice. Groups of three, if you please.” Jeff and Rudy stepped a bit closer to Harry as the rest of the class divided. “Half of you upstairs, half of you down, as per usual,” Tevic continued. “Remember, form in taking a curse is just as important as form in casting one. Focus on injury reduction. Go ahead.” The class dispersed and Rudy, who was shockingly quick, sprinted to the back of the room and up the spiral stair case that was tucked in the corner.

       “He’s reserving our spot,” Jeff explained. “We are creatures of habit in this class. Also, as quidditch players, we’re disgustingly superstitious.”

       “Matherson,” Tevic said, approaching them. “You may teach Mr. Potter the spell if he doesn’t already know it. Potter, don’t worry if you struggle. Just work on dueling; lord knows you can do that. The boys will help you with form.”

       “Yeah, alright.”

       “Go ahead.”

       Jeff led Harry upstairs; Rudy was in the opposite corner, sitting on the floor. Around them, sets of three students were firing spells at one another and sending blasts of cold air in every direction.

       “What spell is that?” Harry asked.

       “Duratus,” Jeff replied. “It temporarily freezes your opponent solid. We’re working on reducing the intensity to just slow them down.”

       “Why would you want to train a weaker version?”

       “Control is very important.” They’d reached Rudy and he got to his feet, pulling out his wand. Jeff did the same, so Harry followed suit.

       “Okay, Harry,” Rudy sighed, smiling a little. The sigh seemed to be his primary mode of communication. “So the reason we’re in groups of three is so that one person can monitor form while the other two duel. Do you want to duel first?”

       “Sure.”

       “With who?”

       “Er…you?”

       “Okay,” he laughed. “Jeff will set you up, I’ll pace off.” He walked away, measuring his steps, and Harry looked to Jeff.

       “Alright, wand up like you’re going to fight.” Harry got into position and Jeff examined him. “Not bad. Clearly untrained, but it’s good to see that experience has taught you to stand like that.”

       “Er, thanks, I think.”

       “Spells generally hit higher than they’re cast from, so you’ll want to lower your arm a little bit. You’re aiming for the chest, not the head.”

       “Got it.”

       “And you’re already slanted away, but go completely perpendicular to Rudyard, over there.”

       “Rudyard?”

       “That is his honest-to-God name,” Jeff laughed, taking Harry’s shoulders and shifting him. “You’ll want to lead with the shoulder of your wand arm. This puts your wand closer to him and, you know, he’s aiming for your chest too. This makes it harder to hit. There, that’s very good. Alright, now, Duratus is tricky; do you want to try it?”

       “Yeah, I’ll have a go.”

       “Alright. The name of the spell is the incantation. Your wand tip should rotate in a clockwise circle and then a short jab to finish. Just try it as you go. Go ahead and take it first, so you know what it does.”

       “Take the curse?”

       “Yeah. It’s really important that you know what every curse you cast feels like; that’s how you know if you can live with yourself casting it on someone else.” On that ominous note, Harry turned to face Rudy.

       “I’m going to do a full one,” he said. “Ready?”

       “Yeah, alright.”

       Rudy turned his body away, bent his knees, and half extended his wand arm. “ _Duratus!_ ” He swirled his wand and jabbed his arm straight and there was no light that came from his wand tip, but instantly, Harry felt cold wind rip past his face and a sensation like freezing cold water swirling around in his chest. He found he could not move at all and it was one of the more unpleasant experiences in his life.

       “Now, Duratus only lasts between thirty and forty five seconds,” Jeff said, taking Harry’s pulse. “But the cool thing about it is that, if cast with enough power, you can freeze your opponent so solid that you can tip them over and make them shatter. We won’t do that to you, obviously, but it’s cool to think that you _could_.”

       “He’s got about ten more seconds,” Rudy said, checking his watch. “Mine doesn’t last very long; I’m working on it.” Harry waited until, all at once, the frozen water in his chest seemed to dry up and his limbs went limp. Jeff caught him before he fell to the floor.

       “Yeah, it’s tricky to keep your balance,” he said, righting him, “because all the feeling comes back in one shot. You’ll get the hang of it, though. Not bad for your first time. Want to try casting it on him?”

       “Sure,” Harry smiled, raising his wand. He focused in on Rudy, swirled his wand, jabbed the air and cried, “ _Duratus!_ ” Rudy’s hair swished like a breeze had rolled by.

       “I felt it!” He smiled. “You definitely have air flow. Do you want to keep trying, or just duel?”

       “Let’s just duel,” Harry laughed. He didn’t feel like struggling in front of these two and he knew he could fight.

       “Okay,” Rudy grinned. “My only attack is going to be the Freeze Ray—“

       “They should call it that,” Jeff laughed.

       “They should,” Rudy agreed. “Anyway, I’ll only use that spell to attack, but I’ll block whatever I can. You use whatever you want, okay?”

       “Yeah, sure.”

       “I can’t believe I’m going to duel _Harry Potter_ ,” he laughed. Jeff gave his friend a thumbs up. “Harry, you go ahead and start.”

       Harry opened with a stunning spell that Rudy deflected without thinking; Harry was frozen solid before he could even choose his next curse. When he unfroze, he fired again. Rudy blocked this as well, but Harry finally managed to block his curse too.

       “Someone’s shaking the rust off,” Jeff praised. “Rudy, check your feet. You’re shifting left.”

       Harry and Rudy dueled for a long while. Rudy seemed to have a near perfect mastery of non-verbal spells—the only one he needed to say aloud was Duratus—and Harry figured that was because it was still new to him. Harry, on the other hand, had never been any good with non-verbals and was forced to say each of his spells aloud, giving Rudy advanced warning of all of them.

       During the duel, Harry also found himself getting more tired than he normally did. It may have simply been due to the repeated freezing of his body, but his knees were starting to ache. His chest was also tightening, making him short of breath. As he fought, Jeff kept a close watch on him. Finally, he held up his hand to stop Rudy.

       “Harry needs a breather,” he called. Rudy dropped his wand to his side and nodded. “Harry, how are you feeling?”

       “This is tough,” he panted, resting his hands on his knees. “Tougher than I expected.”

       “Rudy’s pretty good.”

       “No kidding.”

       “Can you do mental magic? You know, non-verbal spells?”

       “No, I can’t,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “I mean, I know one, but that’s it.”

       “Well, your spells are pretty high quality,” Jeff mused. “I think that’s why you’ve gotten away with saying them out loud for so long. But I’d be willing to bet that if you threw in your one non-verbal, you’d have that string bean over there fooled.”

       “Yeah?”

       “Yeah,” Jeff nodded. “Think you can give him one more round?”

       “Sure,” Harry nodded, standing back up again. “One more.”

       “Ready when you are,” Rudy smiled, lifting his wand again. He cast first and Harry blocked it; if nothing else, he had gotten better at blocking. They volleyed back and forth until Harry finally threw it in. He shouted, “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” and then thought _Levicorpus_. Rudy’s wand stayed in his hand, but he was yanked into the air by his ankles. Jeff immediately fell over laughing.

       “That is amazing!” He gasped. “Oh, that is so good. Harry, you’re brilliant!” He pounded the floor while Rudy curled his body up, examining his own feet.

       “What is this?” He asked from the air.

       “It’s called Levicorpus,” Harry replied. “A Hogwarts student made it up.”

       “How do you undo it?” Rudy asked, flopping back down to swing back and forth. “I’ve been trying _Finite_ and it doesn’t react.”

       “It has a specific counter curse, but it’s not graceful. It just sort of drops you on your head.”

       “What is going on in here?” Professor Tevic said, coming up the stairs. “Rudyard Campbell, what are you doing up there?”

       “Harry got him, sir,” Jeff replied, wiping tears from his eyes. “They were dueling and Harry surprised him.”

       “Oh good,” Tevic smiled. “I thought you two were just fooling around again. That tends to happen when Ms. Hawthorne is absent.”

       “I resent that remark.”

       “All the blood is rushing to my head,” Rudy interrupted. “Harry, could you please?”

       “Yeah, but I’m serious though,” Harry warned. “It’s just going to drop you on your head.”

       “I’ll manage.”

       “Alright.” Harry pointed his wand up and thought _Librecorpus_. Rudy crashed to the ground and Jeff doubled over laughing again.

       “Harry!” Rudy laughed, getting to his feet. “Harry, that does _not_ drop you, it _throws_ you. That was awful.”

       “If you gentlemen could please compose yourselves,” Tevic said, though he was smiling. “I’ll be checking over this floor’s work. First floor was excellent; you have a lot to live up to.” He turned to a group on the other side of the room and class resumed.

       “Harry,” Jeff said, once again wiping at tears. “D’you mind if I fight Rudy for a bit? I need to practice before Tevic examines us. You and I can go after, if there’s time.”

       “Yeah, go ahead.” Harry and Jeff switched places and Rudy pointed his wand at his elbow, mending a bruise. When they were ready, the pair started their duel. Harry had never seen such quick spell work in all his life. The two friends were firing off curses in such rapid succession that, at any point in time, there were at least six jets of light between them.

       While Rudy still had to say Duratus, Jeff did not. Due to this disadvantage, Rudy seemed to be interspersing his attacks with other non-verbal spells. For all the cold air that was blowing out from their fight, neither seemed to be able to freeze the other. Harry looked around at the rest of the room and saw all the other duels taking place were moving along at much the same breakneck speed. He’d though his duel had been alright; he’d thought his speed had been pretty good. Now, he was sure he’d been the tortoise in a room full of hares.

       He was also still aching, though his chest had loosened quite a bit. He rubbed his knees while the fighting went on around him. Tevic eventually came over and seemed to like Rudy and Jeff’s battle. He made a mark on a clip board and moved on to the next group. After about ten minutes of straight spell casting, Jeff finally froze Rudy.

       “Yes!” he cried, punching a fist into the air. “Yes! I win!” Rudy stayed frozen for a full minute before the spell released.

       “Not bad, for a beater,” he teased. “But that was pretty much a shot in the dark. You just don’t have a seeker’s agility.”

       “My accuracy is better than yours anyday,” Jeff laughed. “Remember when I hit you with that marble?”

       “Oh my lord that was awful. I was convinced I’d been shot in the head.”

       “What are you talking about?” Harry asked from the floor.

       “In quidditch practice one day,” Jeff explained, “the beaters and the seekers were training on the same end of the pitch. We were on the ground, they were in the air. That twerp wouldn’t stop talking trash the _entire_ time.”

       “You most definitely started it,” Rudy protested.

       “Whatever. Anyway, he started making fun of my aim, saying I couldn’t even hit a brick wall with a truck.”

       “I picked a bad day to tease him,” Rudy continued. “The beaters were training with marbles that day. They had to hit them through little bitty hoops. Because the seekers were in the air, we couldn’t see what they had. It looked like they were just swinging their bats. But no, they had marbles and Jeff picked one up and launched it at my head.”

       “I hit him right between the eyes and he fell off his broom.”

       “That’s brilliant,” Harry laughed.

       “I got called to the Throne, of course,” Jeff said, a shadow suddenly passing over his face. “But, you have to take the consequences, you know?” He seemed to have shaken whatever thought he’d had and was smiling again. “Now, did you want to try with me?”

       “Sure, if I could,” Harry nodded, getting up. Rudy flopped down in his place and closed his eyes.

       “How’s our form, Rudyard?” Jeff asked. Rudy stuck a thumb in the air, but kept his eyes shut. “He’s such a lazy guy for being so quick,” he laughed, shaking his head at his friend. “Now, Harry, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you do it?”

       “Do that spell on Rudy?”

       “No, how did you get through all of it those last few years?” Rudy’s eyes opened and he looked at Harry as well. “We’ve heard stories; granted we don’t know which of them are true, but how did you do it? You’ve fought Death Eaters—Voldemort himself—and came out the other side. What was your big advantage?”

       “I’m not sure.”

       “No, you’re just not thinking about it,” Jeff laughed. “For example, when Rudy fights, his big advantage is that he’s quick. He’s very quick and he’s agile; he can dodge your curse and knock you down while you’re busy blinking. His blocking is near perfect as well; he’s got a seeker’s eye and can follow a curse like it’s in slow motion. He can head off just about any attack.

       “My big advantage is precision and analysis. I never miss. I might get a spell blocked, but it’s never going to go off course on its own. When I’m fighting, I learn how my opponent blocks things. Rudy’s so damn quick, it takes a long time for me to get around him, but I did. You saw it. That’s how I fight: persist until I find a weak spot and then shoot it like a bullseye. So what do you do? How do you win?”

       “I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “I don’t think…I don’t think I have anything like that. I don’t think I have a special skill. I almost always have friends to help me.”

       “That’s an advantage,” Rudy said. “A team. Some people can’t do that, you know. They can’t work in a group. It’s a skill.”

       “What else?” Jeff prompted.

       “Well, I mean…a lot of it was luck. And some of it was…supposed to happen. A lot of it just had to be me to do it. Most times, even I don’t know how I survived. A lot of it was my friend Hermione; she’s wicked clever. She’s gotten me out of more scrapes than I can count.”

       “She comes dashing in to every duel you have to bail you out?”

       “Well, no. Duelling is…I mean, usually, we’re moving. I mean, running, or something. And there’s always stuff around.”

       “What do you mean?”

       “There’s always something you can knock down on top of them or throw at them. I dunno.”

       “You’re resourceful,” Jeff smiled. “Good. You, Harry Potter, are a resourceful team player. There’s your advantage. Now, use it.”

       “How am I supposed to be a team player if it’s just you and me?”

       “I don’t know,” Jeff grinned. “You’re resourceful; you’ll think of something.” With that, he fired a curse at Harry that he just barely managed to block. Jeff hurled another and another and all at once, Harry found himself moving. He was ducking and side stepping, like a fencer. Jeff started to do the same and the duel became infinitely more difficult, but infinitely more fun.

       Harry was certain of the fact that Jeff knew more curses than he did, but he worked with what he had. He even tried levicorpus, but Jeff blocked it and it ricocheted onto Rudy, hoisting him up once more. The pair didn’t pay him any mind. Harry found that he was dodging more curses than he was blocking and, as such, the floor around him was taking a rather bad beating. Soon, he became aware of the fact that the floor was actually going to give way. He leapt to the side and Jeff shifted, staying right in front of him. That’s what gave Harry the idea.

       Jeff was wicked fast and—like he’d said—deadly accurate and Harry was having trouble keeping up. His knees were hurting more than ever and so was his shoulder now; his chest had tightened again and he was ready to quit, but he just needed Jeff to keep moving. So Harry continued to move right and Jeff did the same. Because he was concentrating so hard on his steps, Harry hadn’t realized his parries had fallen into a pattern; unfortunately for him, Jeff had. He’d spotted Harry’s weakness: he blocked spells and led them away to the left. Jeff sent him one and another immediately after, just to the right. Harry blocked the first, but was unprepared for the second and was knocked backward just as Jeff fell through the floor into the room below.

       When Harry sat up, his ears were ringing, but he could still hear Rudy laughing and the classroom applauding. Someone hauled him to his feet and Harry was surprised to see Professor Tevic.

       “Sorry about the floor,” he mumbled, still a bit dazed.

       “Not at all. The floor can be fixed. How’s your head?”

       “Swirly.”

       “Sit on a desk until it un-swirls. And let Mr. Campbell down, if you can.” Harry did as he was told and Rudy crashed to the floor again as Tevic peered down the new cavern in his classroom.

       “Mr. Matherson,” he called. “How are you?”

       “Fine,” Jeff called back. “I hurt my butt.”

       “Anything broken?”

       “Just my pride.”

       “It’s been long overdue. Patch yourself up and then take care of this hole.”

       “Yes, sir.”


	15. The Quidditch Pitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even in a place meant for fun, Blackhearth Academy has a bit of a serious tone.

       Harry and Jeff had gone through purgatory—calculus—and were sitting through hell with Lisa, which was otherwise known as physics. The highlight of this period had been when Jeff, upon seeing a problem solved on the board, stared at his own work and muttered, “This is straight _bullshit_.”

       At Blackhearth, Harry had learned, Muggle Studies didn’t refer to the study of muggles, but rather subjects that muggles had come up with. Students were expected to be proficient in math, chemistry, physics, and composition. As Harry had never taken any of these classes before, he found he was rather out of his depth, but he liked the fact that the symbols used in calculus—a muggle math class—were similar to the markings in Hermione’s ancient runes books.

       Eventually, the bells chimed to signal the end of the period and Jeff sat back in his seat, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I hate this black magic class,” he muttered. “There’s always some secret trick that makes your answer wrong, even when you’re sure you’ve done it right.”

       “Well, maybe food will cheer you up,” Lisa offered, patting his arm.

       “No food, darling,” he sighed. “Harry and I have to get to the pitch.”

       “The pitch?” Harry asked, his interest piqued.

       “Yessir,” Jeff laughed. “You and I have a project.”

       “Well, I’m going to go downstairs to lunch,” Lisa said, getting to her feet.

       “We’ll walk you to the stairs.” Harry and Jeff also stood and, as they walked along the hall, Harry watched with curiosity yet another Blackhearth passing period. The students were always quiet. Not silent, of course, but quiet. Their conversations were hushed, their laughter was polite, no one jostled the other students. It was just bizarre to him.

       When they reached the stairs, they saw Ron and Ginny going past with their shadows.

       “Hey!” Harry called out. The siblings looked up and waved.

       “Will you sit with us?” Ginny asked.

       “I can’t, sorry. Jeff says we have a project.”

       “Alright,” she said, looking a bit put out. “Well, tell us about it later.”

       “He’ll see you at dinner!” Jeff shouted, dragging Harry up the stairs. Lisa and the rest of the students went the opposite direction, but they fought their way up to the top floor.

       “Why are we up here?” Harry asked. “I thought we had to go to the pitch.”

       “We do,” Jeff laughed. “But I’m not going in my uniform, and neither are you.”

       “I don’t really have anything else.”

       “That’s why we’re going to _my_ room,” he smiled, stopping in front of a door that read **122: Johnson/Matherson**. He tapped the door with his wand and it sprung open. As Jeff set his things down, Harry took a look around.

       The room was just the same size as the one he was staying in, but it looked very different. While the beds were still against the far wall on either side of the window, the desks had been put into an L-shape on the right half of the room along with a big book case, to form a sort of office area. The dressers were by their respective closets, leaving a large area open for a big shag rug and a lime green sofa facing a wall, upon which a gigantic television was set up with some sort of video game console below. In front of the couch was a coffee table with a glass top which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be a clever broom case.

       Harry walked around, taking in more and more of the room. In the office area, one desk was neat and tidy and had a framed picture of Nym and Pepper. The other desk was a mess of papers with the broken chunk of bludger weighing them down. All along the walls were great big posters of quidditch teams that all appeared to have been signed, pictures of Wrigley and Jeff–with his full Mohawk–goofing around, scantily clad witches, band posters, and Blackhearth banners. Harry sat down on the green couch and smiled appreciatively; it was really a very cool room.

       “What do you think?” Jeff asked, pulling open a drawer in his dresser.

       “I like it,” Harry grinned. “But how does the t.v. and things work? I thought magic interfered with stuff like that.”

       “We manage,” Jeff laughed. “Here, put these on.” He threw Harry a light blue shirt, black shorts, and white trainers. He had another set in his other hand. Jeff wasted no time in changing and pulled his shirt off immediately. He was in impeccable shape. Harry turned away to change, hoping Jeff wouldn’t notice how skinny he was. When they’d both changed, Jeff walked over to the coffee table and lifted the lid.

       “What do you ride back home?” He asked.

       “A firebolt.”

       “Wow. I mean, I don’t have one of _those_ lying around, but you could try this,” he said, taking out a broom. “It’s got a ride that’s smooth like yours, but it’s not as fast.”

       “Thank you.”

       Jeff took another broom out, snatched up a duffle bag from the floor, and led the way out of the room. They wound their way back down the stairs. Jeff didn’t even pause at the bottom, but started jogging. Harry followed and they made their way to the back doors, where Jeff continued straight ahead. He was running like it was nothing, while Harry—though not out of shape—was struggling a bit to keep up. They ran all the way out to the aquariums, through the door, and down the long corridor to The Facility.

       “How are you feeling?” Jeff asked, barely winded.

       “Great,” Harry puffed. Jeff smiled and pushed the doors open. The big man was standing behind the counter.

       “Hey Matherson,” he grunted. “Evaluation day?”

       “Yes sir. Do you have my equipment ready?”

       “Here you go.” The man handed over a strange assortment of things like a bundle of brooms, a bunch of hulahoops, and golf balls. Jeff and Harry both gathered these things into their arms and walked to the back of the big room, right to the doors to the dome.

       “So,” Jeff, said, pushing them open with his shoulder. “Today, we are going to be doing flight evaluations.” There was a short corridor with more doors on the other side.

       “I get to see the pitch then?”

       “You get to see the pitch.” Jeff opened the second set of doors and painfully bright light spilled into the room. Harry squinted and walked through.

       “This is _fantastic_ ,” he hissed. Jeff grinned, showing his missing tooth and started jogging. Harry followed after, but lagged behind as he marveled at what was before him.

       The Blackhearth pitch put Hogwarts’ to shame. This stadium was massive and had considerably more seats. The goal posts gleamed gold on either end and the stands were covered with large panels that alternated between pale-blue and black-and-white checked. The dome itself was also magnificent; the weather was currently set to sunny, but cool: perfect for quidditch. There was even real grass growing on the ground and, when you looked up, you couldn’t tell you were in a dome at all. It just looked like sky.

       “Don’t we go in here?” Harry asked as they passed a huge entrance, the walls of which were plastered with posters of players and the Blackhearth crest.

       “Nope, that’s for spectators. Sometimes, we let people watch. But we’re going to use the team entrance,” Jeff said over his shoulder. They jogged around the outside of the stadium until they came upon a sort of menagerie sticking out of the back. It was cloth coated and the flap-door entrance was tied open. They entered and found hospital beds, metal bath tubs, and broom repair stations.

       “This is the training room,” Jeff explained. “Both the visiting and home teams can make use of anything in here. But, this is the home team locker room.” He took Harry to another open entrance on the right side of the room. Inside was spectacular and obviously magically altered. It was massive and all the lockers were gleaming black wood with silver name plates. There were black benches and a captain’s office in the corner. Beside this office was an impossibly tall spiral stair case that seemed to lead to the roof.

       “That’s where we enter for games,” Jeff said, peering up. “We jump off a platform. But since we have all this stuff, we’ll just use the field entrance,” and he pushed aside a heavy curtain, revealing a tunnel into the dazzling sunlight outside.

       “Alright, Harry, so the trick today is going to be to pretend you know what you’re doing, okay?”

       “And what does that mean?”

       “Well, how many of these days have you run? Flight evaluation days?”

       “None.”

       “This is my sixth,” Jeff grinned. “I will certainly be instructing you, but just know that if you feel like you don’t know what you’re doing, then just act like you do and you’ll be fine. Sounds good?”

       “Yeah. What _are_ we doing.”

       “Well, we have a military aspect to Blackhearth,” he sighed. “If called upon, we need to be ready to defend the school. But, you know, you don’t just walk into this place knowing what that means. So in the first few weeks, after the firsties get a chance to get used to classes, we give them skill evaluations to see which area they’ll be assigned to. We have things like infantry, aerial assault, munitions, medical, animal aid, and civilian assistance. I am part of aerial assault; I’m actually the squad leader. So, today, I get to have the first years jump through some hoops to see if there are any fliers that I can take and train. I’m also supposed to be on the lookout for anyone that could potentially be a benefit to the quidditch team, but primarily people for aerial assault.”

       “What do you do?” Harry asked. “If the school were attacked, what would aerial assault be doing?”

       “We are scouts, look outs, and—you know—aerial assault. We cast spells and throw Drops from the sky.”

       “What is a Drop?”

       “Oh, the lingo,” he laughed. “It’s so stupid. Drops are these little vials of potion that we stock up on before we take off. Munitions makes them for us. Munitions, by the way, is primarily made up of people that are very good at potions and enchantments. Anyway, when we’re in the air, we throw Drops down below us. Sometimes they make explosions, sometimes they make gasses, sometimes they start fires; it depends what you throw down.”

       “Wow. But that’s aerial assault and munitions; what do the others do?”

       “Well,” Jeff said, starting to stretch. “Medical, obviously, will run our hospital.”

       “Do you have a hospital wing here?”

       “No, not a permanent one. We set one up in the kitchens when we’re called to positions. For the day to day stuff, you find a student that’s on a healer path. If that doesn’t work, most professors know how to patch kids up. Worse comes to worst, you get taken to Smethywick’s.”

       “What’s that?”

       “A hospital,” he laughed. “Like ah…what do you have? Bongos? Mumbos?”

       “St. Mungos?”

       “That’s the one,” he nodded. “We have Smethywick’s. Um, what else though…Infantry are foot soldiers, so those are our duelers. Animal aid is when we employ some of the creatures we have on the grounds to help us. Do you know Penelope Spicer?”

       “Yeah, Pepper.”

       “Exactly,” he nodded. “You know Wrigley, so I figured you’d know her. She’s head of Animal Aid. No surprises there, though. The last one is civilian assistance—that’s where all the first years go no matter what, at least until their second year. Some people stay there the whole time. They’re the ones that take anyone we need to in here and tend to them. We’ve had the whole stadium filled before; just tents all over the place.”

       “Really? When was that?”

       “Last year,” he replied with a sad smile. “We had a lot of refugees here. From Britain and Europe.”

       “I didn’t know that.”

       “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

       “I guess. But you just held them all here? They lived here?”

       “Yeah. I mean, there was no quidditch being played last year, so it’s not like we needed the pitch. We still had The Facility to train in; we made do. Our goal was to take care of our guests, and that’s what we did. We had an awful lot of muggle born families. Little kids that hadn’t even started school yet. They loved it; thought it was some big adventure. Strictly speaking, when we’re in a state of defense, civilians aren’t supposed to leave the dome, but it wasn’t really defense then. It was just shelter, so we got to bring the kids out—topside—and let them run around. We gave them swimming lessons in the lake and then in winter, when there were still only a few, Pepper organized flying sleigh rides for the families and they could be pulled around by either a winged horse or a hippogriff. We took all the kids sledding down the big hill too; we all do that anyway in the winter, but it was fun with the little guys.

       “In spring, we got a huge influx of people. Way more than we expected. We couldn’t organize things like that for so many people anymore. But once, right around Easter, Nym—ah, Nymeria Hawthorne?”

       “Yeah, I know her.”

       “She got a weekend off. She and her husband Wil blew a huge amount of cash buying candy and fake eggs. Then she, him, and their friends spent all night on Friday setting up a campus wide egg hunt. We brought everyone up topside and the kids went bananas. There were eggs _everywhere_ , even in the school. It was awesome. She even gave all the kids dragon rides on her back.”

       “Seriously?”

       “Yeah,” Jeff laughed. “I got a few of my teammates together and we raced with the kids on the backs of our brooms. They loved going fast. It was just a big day for them all, just to get their minds off of home.”

       “That’s so…kind,” Harry said, trying to imagine it. “That’s so kind of all of you.”

       “It’s why we’re here,” Jeff shrugged. “It’s why we come to school. To try and make the world suck less. But, enough. Enough sappy memories. We are doing flight evaluations!”

       “Yes!” Harry laughed, looking at all their equipment. “What are we doing with all of this?”

       “Well, the kids will be here after lunch. Rip will bring them in.”

       “Rip?”

       “Professor Richards. The big guy at the equipment counter. We call him Rip. He’s going to run them all here, so we still have about half an hour before we need to have our shit together—forgive my language. We are going to start with a basic skills assessment. You said you are a coach back at Hogwarts?”

       “Yeah. I can’t play, strictly speaking, so I’m going to help them out.”

       “Get some practice in, then. You’ll run basic skills. Teach them how to kick off, forward, reverse, and how to dismount. Can you manage that?”

       “I think so.”

       “I’m sure you can. After that, I’m going to take them on an agility run. You will be down here with a clip board and stop watch,” he said, taking them out of his bag. “Mark each kid’s time when they quit.”

       “Okay.”

       “After agility, we’ll do target practice. You’re going to set up the hula hoops down here; just throw them where ever. Put some close together, make some really far from the others, just do whatever. I’ll have the golf balls with me and then kids will throw them and try to get them in the hoops. Mark how many targets each kid hits on the clip board. Then we’ll do speed runs. They’ll fly from one end of the pitch to the other as fast as they can; they’ll each get three tries and we’ll take their best time. Then we end with an endurance run.”

       “A run?”

       “They’ll run until they puke or collapse,” he said. “Just around the pitch. We’ll count how many laps they get in.”

       “You’re kidding about the collapsing though, right?”

       Jeff shook his head. “Puke or collapse.”

       “Oh, okay.”

       Harry still thought Jeff might be joking, but he didn’t seem to be as he checked his laces and stretched his legs. They waited for a bit, trying to amuse themselves. Jeff had his beater’s bat in his bag and launched a few golf balls across the pitch. He even let Harry have a go.

       “It’s not bad,” Jeff said, cocking his head as the ball soared away.

       “My first quidditch captain told me that too. He said I’d make a fair beater.”

       “I don’t know if I’d go that far, but you can hit a golf ball reasonably well.”

       “Fair enough,” he laughed.

       “Want a little seeker practice to shake off the rust? I’ll hit ‘em, you catch ‘em.”

       “Yeah, alright,” Harry grinned. He mounted his broom and took off. Jeff was right; this model wasn’t as fast as his Firebolt, but it was exceptionally stable and easy to ride. It felt wonderful to be in the air again. Harry whipped around the stadium for a bit before calling to Jeff to fire one off. Jeff did and Harry chased after it, narrowly managing to pluck it out of the air before it hit a goal post.

       “Nice,” Jeff praise, picking up another. Harry stowed the first in his pocket and went after the second. They continued this game for a long while and were almost startled to see the first years when they were led out onto the field. Jeff winked at Harry and hit one last ball with all his might. Harry zoomed after it, going all out, and caught it with a flourish. When he landed, all the first years were staring at him wide eyed. They were tiny, just like the ones at Hogwarts, and there were only about nine. That made sense though; Blackhearth years were probably always fairly small. The school was rather exclusive, after all.

       “Alright,” Jeff said, calling for attention. “My name is Mr. Matherson, this is Mr. Potter. We are going to be running your flight evaluations today. First things first, everybody grab a broom from the pile. Mr. Potter, take it away.”

       “Yeah, ah, alright,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yeah, everyone get a broom and toss a leg over like this.” He demonstrated and the kids followed, one girl sticking her hand in the air.

       “Yes?” Harry asked.

       “Are you from England?”

       “Yes.”

       A boy raised his hand and Harry nodded at him. “You’re Mr. Potter right? But are you Harry _Potter?_ ”

       “Yes.”

       The kids buzzed excitedly, whispering to one another. Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. Jeff gave a whistle and all of them shut up.

       “Pay attention,” he said. “You have a very unique opportunity here; don’t waste it by gossiping.”

       “Thank you,” Harry said gratefully. “No, er, no more questions.” He tried to sound authoritative and Jeff nodded at him, so he figured he’d done alright. “Okay, so everyone is mounted up. Let me check your positions. You there,” he said, pointing at a boy. “You’ll want your hands a bit further down on your handle, like this. Good, good. Now, we’ll learn how to kick off. This is very important. You’re going to do it a bit like you’re stomping. Try to push straight up, rather than jet yourself forward. So, here we go. One, two, three, kick.”

       The group all kicked in unison and, to Harry’s surprise, every student rose into the air.

       “Wow, excellent,” he praised. “Really good. Now, hold still and concentrate on hovering. I’m going to pull you all into a line and then we’ll work on moving.” They all levitated obediently as Harry tugged them all into formation.

       “Alright, so now we’re ready to move forward,” he said, remembering Jeff’s list. “You do it by shifting your weight towards the front of the broom. Try not to push down with your hands or you’ll go into a dive. Just move straight ahead like this.” He demonstrated and the class mimicked him perfectly. He then taught them to go backwards, left, right, up, and down. It was more than Jeff had asked for, but he didn’t interrupt. Not one person seemed to have any difficulty with any of it. It seemed to Harry that Jeff would have a very tough time indeed in sorting out the flight specialists.

       “Alright,” he said after a moment. “Everyone come back down into your line and land. Shift your weight back and lift the handle of the broom. It’ll lower you.”

       They all did so and floated to the ground elegantly.

       “Okay, Mr. Matherson, they’re all yours.”

       “Thank you, Potter,” he said bracingly. His voice was militant, but he smiled at Harry and winked. Then he turned back to the group. “Now, I want everyone to get into a single file line behind me. We’re going to play a little follow the leader.” They shoved and jostled themselves into this new arrangement and Jeff kicked off hard, shooting into the air. To Harry’s utter amazement, only one kid was unable to keep up with him. He snatched up the clip board and started the stopwatch. The girl that couldn’t kick off had her name on the back of her shirt. He found her on the sheet and marked a 0:00 in the first box. She stood beside him and watched the others.

       Jeff turned loops and made hair pin turns and the kids were right on his tail. This run lasted about twenty minutes. By the end, five more kids had gathered around Harry. They watched in astonishment as the remaining line wove through the goal posts, touched the grass, back flipped, and dove. Harry wasn’t completely sure he could do all of these maneuvers.

       Eventually, they landed and gathered the rest again. Jeff started doling out golf balls and Harry knew this was his cue to scatter the hoops so he flicked his wand and they went flying. The kids took off and did their best to hit the targets while Harry diligently marked down their progress. He did the same for speed runs and, in what felt like moments, Jeff had the kids running laps around the pitch.

       “So who’s going to make the cut?” Harry asked as they watched them run.

       “I would take the two brown haired boys and the blond girl right away,” Jeff replied. “They’re good. Kim could try again next year if she practices, same with Eliott and Jose. But who knows if I’ll get them.”

       “What do you mean?”

       “I don’t know what they scored on their other evaluations. They could all be really good with potions or animals or something; we won’t know until next month. Then I’ll worry about who to train. Oh look, we have our first puker.”

       They both looked out to see the blond girl, Cara, vomit on her own shoes.

       “Nice work, Cara!” Jeff called. “You can sit down now, thank you.” Cara hobbled to the grass and sprawled out and Harry wrote down a 9 beside her name.

       “This is sort of brutal,” he commented, watching the rest of the group struggle on.

       “This is training,” Jeff shrugged. “We take it seriously.”

       “How many laps can you run?”

       “More than you,” Jeff laughed. “We run a lot here. It’s awful at first, but it gets easier.”

       “Yeah, I couldn’t help but notice that everyone here seems to be in shape. Like, you don’t have any…large…students.”

       “That’s on purpose,” Jeff smiled. “It’s part of curriculum, to whip us into shape. We’re student soldiers.”

       “Apparently.”

       “They’ll be fine,” he sighed. “Everyone always is. And good work today, by the way. Your little lesson at the start was really nice.”

       “Thanks.”

       “You’ll be a good coach. If you spot any players that you think might have a chance on a professional level, send them my way. I’ll see if I can train them, give them a little edge.”

       “Really?”

       “Yeah, sure. Try outs for the big leagues are toward the end of the school year; that’ll be enough time to make a good player great. Couldn’t hurt your team’s chances at Hogwarts either. Might as well use the resources you’ve got while you have them.”

       “Yeah, we’ve got try outs in a week. I’ll let you know if there’s anyone after we’ve had a few practices. I mean, you could even come scout if you wanted to. Just, you know, stick to Gryffindor.”

       “Fair enough,” Jeff laughed. “Let me know when your…third practice is. Or your first game. Yeah, let me know when your first game is.”

       “Okay.”

       “I’ll have to pick up some Gryffindor gear before then,” he smiled. “Nym has a Slytherin scarf; I’ll have to ask her where she got it.”

       “Nym has a Slytherin scarf?”

       “Yeah, she chose sides early. Does she know people at your school?”

       “Yeah, she’s got a cousin there.”

       “Cool—oh, second puker. Nice work Jose! Sit down on the grass!”

       Harry and Jeff watched the first years run and some managed to go for an exceptionally long time. When it was all said and done, dinner was about forty five minutes away. The first years left and Harry and Jeff returned the equipment and went back up to Jeff’s room to change. When they went back down to eat, Jeff pointed out a table full of waving people. It was Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Ginny.

       _Ginny,_ Harry thought. _I’ll suggest Ginny. She could be a professional if she wanted to_.


	16. The Trinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets the lay of the land at Blackhearth from his second shadow.

       The following day, the shadows were reassigned. This time, they seemed to have been done with the express intention of finding people as opposite as possible and pairing them together. Ginny ended up with Jeff’s girlfriend, Lisa, and Hermione was sitting at a table full of girls with gauzy scarves tied in their hair and too many rings. She was in a herd of Trelawneys and Harry said a silent prayer she wouldn’t kill any of them.

       “Who’d you get?” Harry asked, turning to Ron.

       “This bloke called Bradley Webster,” he sighed. “I met him yesterday. He’s like a boy version of Hermione. I wish I could have had Glen again; he was a laugh.”

       “Yeah, Jeff was good too,” Harry grinned. “What about you, Neville?”

       “I’ve got that Bethany girl,” he replied. “The blond one that Pepper scared off. You?”

       “Vivienne Keck,” Harry said, reading his card.

       “Yes?” They all turned their heads to see a girl with long, wavy brown hair staring at them.

       “Are you Vivienne?” Harry asked.

       “No, but she’s a friend of mine.”

       “Oh, well, I’m supposed to shadow her today.”

       “She got _you_ ,” the girl said, smirking. “Pure excellence. I’ll take you to our table. Do you know a Neville?”

       “That’s me,” he smiled.

       “Brill,” she sighed, flipping her hair. “Beth sits with us. You two with me. Later carrot top.” She pushed past Ron and grabbed Harry and Neville by the wrists, leading them to a table right in the center of the room. Bethany was sitting there, her perfectly straight, blond hair pinned out of her eyes with a powder blue barrette. Beside her was a girl with perfect, gold curls and berry pink lips. They were speaking to one another very quickly.

       “Ladies,” the brown haired girl said, pushing the boys toward chairs. “I found your shadows. What would you do without me?”

       “Hi, you must be Neville?” Bethany said, shaking his hand.

       “You don’t need any introduction,” the other girl said, grinning at Harry. She had a southern accent. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Vivienne; you can call me Vivi if you like.”

       “Oh, and I’m Katie Marks,” the brown haired girl said, taking her slip of paper from her plate. Harry remembered her from the day before; she’d been paired with the Slytherin girl.

       They all answered their questions and watched their plates fill. Today it was waffles, syrup, sausage links, and some sort of beige paste.

       “What is this?” Bethany asked, poking at it.

       “It’s grits,” Vivi replied, pushing it aside. “It’s ground corn.”

       “Are they pretending this is a valid vegetable?” Katie sniffed. “They’re going to give us a plate full of carbs with _grits_ standing in as the vegetable?”

       “So,” Harry said, not seeing anything to complain about in the food department. “What classes do we have today?”

       “Seriously?”

       “Yes.”

       “Oh, honey,” Vivienne smiled. “I didn’t know you were the _academic_ type.”

       “I’m not really, I just—“

       “Then ask what you actually want to know,” Katie interrupted. “I mean, everyone here is smart, everyone here has interesting classes. Who cares? You two lucked out and happen to be sitting with The Fates.”

       “The Fates?” Neville asked, glancing at Harry.

       “That’s what people call us,” Katie smirked. “It’s because we know everything about everyone at this school.”

       “Mauve told me about you girls,” Neville said, smiling. Vivienne and Katie immediately looked at Bethany, who scowled.

       “Did she?” She huffed. “What did _Mauve Cleary_ have to say about us?”

       “She just said what you did: that you know everything about everyone.”

       “Good.”

       “Beth and Mauve don’t get along much anymore,” Vivi whispered, leaning over so only Harry could hear. “They used to be friends, but it went sour around fifth year.”

       “I know you’re talking about me,” Bethany said irritably. “Just share it with the group. Mauve and I aren’t friends anymore. She hangs out with the Holy Trinity and I don’t. Fabulous.”

       “The Holy Trinity?” Harry laughed.

       “I’m going to the bathroom,” Bethany sighed, getting up. Katie leapt up immediately and left with her, so it was only the boys and Vivienne.

       “It’s a touchy subject,” she shrugged. “Bethany thinks she got robbed.”

       “Robbed of what?”

       “The chance to be part of the Trinity,” she laughed. “Well, part of their outer ring. She and Mauve stopped being friends and then those three got all cool and Mauve got to go along for the ride.”

       “Who are the Trinity?” Neville asked.

       “Over there,” Vivienne said, pointing toward the back of the room. “Wrigley Johnson, Penelope Spicer, and Nymeria Hawthorne. Beth doesn’t really like Pepper either, but still. The outer ring is made up of Nym’s brother and sister, Mauve Cleary, and Jeffery Matherson. Jeff is just kind of an honorary member, though, because he lives with Wrigley and he’s on the quidditch team. He does his own thing, mostly, but he still gets all the respect.”

       “What do you mean ‘the respect?’” Harry asked.

       “Harry, please,” she giggled. “The Holy Trinity is easily the most important group at Blackhearth. Everyone wants to know them, to hang out with them. Hardly anyone gets to, though. They’re really exclusive. I mean, they’re nice to everyone, but they don’t make friends with many people, you know?”

       “What makes them so important?”

       “They’re _amazing_. All three of them and everyone they let be in the outer circle are at the forefront of their fields. I mean, most Blackhearth kids end up front runners, but they’ve been the very best for a few years now. It’s ridiculous. Pepper is one of the most respected animal behaviorists on the planet, but her real claim to fame is antidotes and medicinal breakthroughs; she studies animals in depth and has come up with an antidote for nearly every venom there is. She’s also found hundreds of new uses for animal hair and scales and spit and all that stuff; potion ingredients, you know? She’s an ace at identifying poisons derived from venom, as well as bites and injuries. She gets called in to examine evidence in court proceedings all the time and her word is trusted so much, it can decide a verdict.

       “That helps out Wrigley, who works in magical law. He’s been a trial lawyer since his ninth year here. People are _terrified_ when they come up against him. He’s brilliant; a genius with laws, history, dates, you name it. If it wasn’t bad enough that he can sniff out almost any guilty party by himself, he’s got Nym, Pepper, Mauve, and Wilfred Penceworth at his beck and call to help on cases. I told you how seriously Pepper’s opinion is taken, and Mauve’s has just about as much weight when it comes to anything dealing with plants.

       “Wilfred Penceworth used to go here and now he’s Smethywick’s golden boy. He works in some hideous ward, like animal attacks, but he’s a brilliant healer. Easily the best. Wrigley can always get him to be medical examiner on cases when he needs to. Wil’s word is law.

       “And then, there’s Nym. Her assessment of anything dealing with spells is like, the final opinion. There are no questions after that. She doesn’t even have to say anything, really. If Wrigley is having a tough time with a case, he just needs her to come in and sit in the court room. She is literally so well respected in the ministry that _that_ can sway a jury.

       “Right now, Wrigley’s got his eye on the office of Minister of Magic and he could get it too. He’s popular with the public and he’s got, like, these power players to back him up. But he can get more, too. He’s got Jeff who is connected to almost every professional quidditch team in the world and can get them to endorse Wrigley. Then there’s Nym’s siblings, who are like, baby geniuses. The girl one, Tempest, is a painter and she’s been generating some buzz. The boy, Julian, is an apprenticed wand maker, which is unheard of for someone his age. Give the two of them a little more time and they’ll have clientele they can persuade to get on Wrigley’s bandwagon too. Those guys could seriously take over the world.”

      Harry laughed, “You actually know everything about everyone, don’t you?”

       “All of it,” Vivienne grinned. To be fair, Harry just couldn’t take her seriously. She hardly seemed fit to be at Blackhearth. He had expected all of the students here to be intellectuals, not petty gossips. He found that knowing Bethany—who he’d assumed was very clever at first—was part of this group made him respect her much less. Still, he figured he might play along while the opportunity was presented to him. Even if this girl’s head was mostly filled with hot air, at least it was all interesting whispers about the rest of the school.

       “Who are those people?” Harry asked, pointing at Hermione’s table.

       “Oh, those are The Individuals,” she smirked. “They’re called that because that’s what they say if you ask them who they are. _I’m an individual_. Naturally, they all dress and speak exactly alike. That girl with the big hair is new though. She’s from Hogwarts, right?”

       “That’s Hermione,” Harry replied. “Hermione Granger.”

       “I read about her in the newspapers all the time,” Vivienne said, cocking her head. “Why have I never seen a picture of her before? She’s got a pretty face, but, I mean…that _hair_. It’s not bad, I just don’t think I could handle it. I’m sure it’s fully fascinated The Individuals.”

       “Do all your groups have names?” Neville asked, grinning. He seemed to be of much the same opinion as Harry when it came to Vivi.

       “Yeah, for the most part,” she shrugged. “It makes for easy reference. That, and then your reputation sticks around.”

       “How so?”

       “Well, I mean, Wil Penceworth for example. If you just threw that name at a second or third year, they’d have no idea who it was, but if you said ‘one of the Four Horsemen,’ you’ll get a different reaction.”

       “The Four Horsemen?”

       “Yeah, as in, the horsemen of the apocalypse,” she laughed. “That’s what Wil and his friends were called when they were here. It was him, Vince Mellary, Shaun Gambol, and Dean Bradford.”

       “What’re the four horsemen though,” Neville said, brows furrowed. “What’s that name from?”

       “It’s this thing in Christianity,” Vivienne smiled. “Some people think the four horsemen will bring the apocalypse. There’s Conquest, War, Famine, and Death. Vince was Conquest, Shaun was War, Dean was Famine, and Wil was Death. All of those names were ironic, of course. Vince and Shaun are both diplomats, Wil is a healer, and Dean…well, Dean Bradford is an auror, but he always had this little pudgy stomach. He was in just as good of shape as anyone else, he just had a little padding. So they made him Famine.”

       “Who did?” Harry asked. “Who picked the names?”

       “Well, they all did, when they first became friends. They would joke around about it, but no one called them that until they weren’t losers anymore.”

       “They used to be losers?”

       “Everyone’s a loser when they first get here,” she said plainly. “Because everyone’s a first year when they get here.”

       “Are you finished?” Bethany asked as she and Katie came back to the table.

       “Yes, we’re all done.”

       “Good. Did you talk about anyone worthwhile?”

       “Always,” Vivienne smiled. “Almost done eating, Harry? We have to go to the aquariums for our first class. It’s quite a walk and I like to leave early.”

       “Yeah, alright,” he said, getting to his feet as she did. Vivienne blew kisses at her friends and Harry waved at Neville before they walked down the hall and out onto the back patio of the school.

       “So,” Harry asked. “What are you training to be?”

       “I’m actually hoping to design clothes,” she said, smiling shyly. Harry fought against the urge to roll his eyes. Vivi continued though, “I’m really good with transfiguration and charms, so I started making these dresses where, when you twirl, the skirt turns into a giant flower blossom.”

       “A flower?”

       “Yeah, like a rose or a tulip,” she nodded. “I made one for Nymeria Hawthorne a few years ago. I got a few other commissions for gowns from people here, so I started making more things. I’ve got men’s robes that can switch from dress robes to a tuxedo, depending on what you need. Wil Penceworth is looking into one of those; I made one for his little brother Roddy a while back—those two are family friends of mine—and he liked it quite a bit.

       “I make these illusion slippers for women too, which are these really plush, warm shoes but when you put them on, there’s a charm that makes it look like you’re wearing high heels. They levitate you just a little bit to give you the height, so you’re literally walking on air.”

       “Wow, Vivienne,” he said, honestly impressed. “Those all sound brilliant. Like, really, really clever.”

       “Thank you,” she laughed. “I make normal clothes too, but I use magic to stitch them together. However, a lot of witches will pour money on me if I make them a dress by hand; it’s like they’ve never heard of it before.”

       “But, if you want to make clothes, why are you taking classes in the aquariums?”

       “I take a lot of magical creature courses, actually,” she replied. “I want to get familiar with the textures. I have to use a lot of feathers and pelts. Today, though, is going to be awful. We have to clean all the tanks. You don’t have to help, you can just watch.”

       “Okay.”

       They went down the stairs and into the room below the lake. The rest of the class showed up shortly after them and the bells rang. Harry sat on the steps and spent most of the hour watching the animals swimming around in the lake overhead, trying not to let the smell of old algae get to him.

       The next class Vivienne had was in The Facility, in the dive tank. Goyle was there for that period as well, but the professor decided neither of them were experienced enough to dive yet. After that, Vivienne had a class in the green houses, which involved handling some sort of plant that had inch long thorns on its tentacles, which it insisted on whipping around at students’ heads. Harry sat that one out as well, but at least he was able to go to lunch. He and Vivienne sat with her friends and Neville again. Neville looked miserable and appeared to be holding all of Bethany’s things.

       After lunch, Vivienne had Theory of Conjuring—which made Harry’s head hurt—followed by chemistry, where they were learning how to make fireworks. That class was alright until the boy from Hufflepuff, Aaron, accidentally exploded the one his shadow had been making and they had to spend the rest of the period cleaning the classroom. After that, they had Inventive Brewing where, each month, students were given a task like removing foot odor or making someone dizzy or this month’s: stripping rust from a cauldron. They were then expected to create a potion to complete it. Vivienne’s kept burning holes through the iron, but she was convinced she was getting close. When the bells chimed, she was tossing her last cauldron onto the rubbish pile.

       “Ah, finished with the last class,” she said happily, walking back to Harry.

       “I thought classes went until five thirty though.”

       “They do,” she nodded. “But I have to skip my last one and go do a fitting for a client this hour, which means you get a free period.”

       “Oh, wicked,” he smiled. “Thank you for having me as your shadow today.”

       “Not a problem, sir,” she laughed. “Let me know if you ever need a suit or anything.”

       “Yeah, sure.”

       She waved and walked off down the hall in the opposite direction and Harry just sort of floated along with the crowd during passing. He had ended up liking Vivienne much more than he’d thought he would. She was much cleverer than he’d given her credit for at breakfast.

       When he got to the staircase, he thought he might go up to the library again, since he was already on the fourth floor anyway. When he got there, it was dead silent. He walked over to where the bells hung, hoping to watch them when they went off. He only had to wait about five minutes and they began to swing back and forth, but there was no noise at all. Harry smiled at them and walked along the rows of books until he came to a little sitting area with a sofa and two overstuffed chairs clustered together. Harry dropped down onto the powder blue couch and sank into its downy cushions.

       He had intended to find an interesting book while he was there; he’d figured he might learn something. Unfortunately, where he was sitting was far too comfortable to leave and soon, he found himself leaning to the side. Ultimately, he gave up and tipped over, nestling into the soft velvet. He closed his eyes and took in the silence of the room around him. It was so soothing, the Blackhearth library. Perfectly quiet, warm, and filled with the smell of books.

       “Harry,” someone said, shaking his shoulder. His eyes snapped open. Hermione and Ron were standing over him.

       “Don’t you two have class?” He mumbled, sitting up.

       “We’ve finished,” Ron laughed. “We were going to go pack for when we leave, but Hermione wanted to stop and see the library again. How long have you been here?”

       “I came in about an hour ago, if class has finished then,” he yawned. He hadn’t even known he’d fallen asleep. “Vivienne had a work study.”

       “How did you like Vivienne?” Hermione asked, sitting in one of the chairs. Ron dropped into the other and then slouched down comfortably.

       “She was nice,” Harry shrugged. “She had loads of tough classes. She’s a bit of a gossip, though. How were The Individuals?”

       “They call themselves that, did you know that?” She said, sounding irritated. “I asked them who they were and one just said, ‘I’m an individual. We all are.’ It took two minutes of that for my shadow, Karley Viken, to understand that I was looking for her. Then they tried to put one of those stupid scarves in my hair.”

       “Sounds pretty bad,” he snickered. Ron smiled as well.

       “It was awful. At least the classes were interesting, even though Karley only seems to take astronomy. What about you, Ron? What did you think of Bradley?”

       “He’s wicked clever,” Ron replied. “But he didn’t seem to care for me being there. I ‘spose that’s alright though. I was out of my depth all day anyway. He’s some sort of theorist; it was all discussion about things I’ve never heard of and they said “conceptualize” a few hundred times. He did have a charms class that was quite nice. A student got to teach everyone else a spell they’d made and she taught us all how to blow bubbles out of our wand tip. I couldn’t help but think about if it had been us in our first or second years: Neville would have flooded the room with suds, and if it were Seamus, all of his bubbles would pop like bombs.” Harry grinned at this thought. He also thought about how Hermione would have had perfect bubbles right from the start and he and Ron would have popped all of hers out of spite.

       “The first day was loads better though,” Ron continued, sitting up a bit. “I had that Glen Arnolds. He’s going to be a potion brewer at Smethywick’s, the hospital. He’s going to make their antidotes and medicines and things for them. The entire day was just potions lessons, but he was a right laugh. I’ve never enjoyed potions before, but yesterday was nice. I had Julian in one class too; he and Glen are friends and he’s quite cheeky as well.”

       “I enjoyed my first day much more,” Hermione sighed. “You would think they might try to end with that one. Claire Robin was marvelous; she had all these classes on magical law. It’s actually quite fascinating, and I had two periods with Wrigley Johnson. He’s brilliant; I could have listened to him debate all day.”

       “He’s a trial lawyer,” Harry said. “Apparently, he’s really good and he might be minister soon. Vivienne told me that; she had plenty to say about everyone.”

       “Well I think it would suit him,” Hermione replied. “What about you, Harry? Did you like your first shadow day better?”

       “My first day with Jeff was fantastic,” Harry grinned. “We only had classes in the morning and in our first one, I just dueled him and his friend. Then in the afternoon, we went to the quidditch pitch.”

       “You got to see it?” Ron asked, sitting up. “What’s it like then?”

       “Brilliant,” Harry laughed. “Amazing. It’s huge and the dome is enchanted so it looks like you’re out in the open air. We were out there for the rest of the day with the first years. Jeff told me I could recommend players on the Gryffindor team to him and he might train them for the pros. I was thinking I might suggest…Ginny.”

       “Really?” Hermione asked. “I’m sure she’d love that.”

       “Yeah,” Ron agreed. “I bet she would.”

       “Where is she, anyway?”

       “She and her new girl, Lisa, actually got on really well,” Hermione replied. “She’s taking her to go watch her boyfriend and his mates practice tomorrow morning.”

       “Lisa’s boyfriend is Jeff,” Harry laughed. “Which means she gets to go watch the Blackhearth team practice.”

       “She might ask you along too, if you don’t need another rest in the library,” Ron teased.

       “Yeah, when did I turn all old?”

       “Do you feel old?” Hermione asked, suddenly a bit serious. “Sometimes I do. It’s strange.”

       “Yeah,” Ron sighed, slouching back down again. “I know what you mean. Sometimes, I feel about eighty.”

       “Yeah,” Harry agreed, thinking about his duels the day before. His joints had ached like an old man’s. “We grew up quite fast there at the end, didn’t we?”

       “I think so,” Hermione nodded. “But I like that we got to come here. I spent so much of my time just marveling at the school, it’s like I’m in my first year again.”

       “I’m glad the other kids will get to see this place too,” Harry added. “I mean, once we go back, the floo channel will be open for everyone.”

       “Speaking of which, we need to go get our things,” Hermione said, getting to her feet. “We have a welcome-back feast to get to.”

       “I’d forgotten about that,” Harry laughed. “I suppose it has been three days, hasn’t it? It went quickly.”

       “I’m glad it ended on the weekend,” Ron grinned. “We can see what this lot does for fun over here.”

       “They probably study,” Hermione chided as they made their way to the stairs. “Like we should, but you two never seem to do.”

       “Never seem to do? Hermione, we’ve been back for less than a full week and we didn’t even go to school last year. Why would we have studied?”

       “Yeah,” Ron agreed. “And anyway, we studied a bit before that. Sometimes.” Hermione fixed them with a look. “Alright,” he allowed. “From time to time.”

       “It’d better be more this year, or you’ll never get through Nym’s class.”

       “I forgot about that too!” Harry said, suddenly excited. “I’m definitely going to apply for it. If it’s anything like the Defensive Magic class I took yesterday, it’ll be brilliant.”

       Hermione left them at the landing, having to go to the far staircase to get to the girl’s dormitories, and Harry and Ron went up to their rooms. The others were also gathering their things and they made their way down to the Main Hall together. The tables were out for dinner and the settings were just beginning to appear. Bethany was waiting for them all.

       “Hello!” She called, waving. “Pepper is busy at the moment, so I’ll be taking you back just like we planned. Did you all enjoy yourselves?” There was general agreement among the group and she smiled a perfect, white smile. “Wonderful. Now, come on, we’ve got to walk back out to the gate keeper’s shack.”

       The group made their way toward the big glass doors just as the Blackhearth students began filtering in for dinner. They were all talking and laughing like normal, but a few noticed the Hogwarts group on their way out and waved.

       “Later Harry!” Someone shouted. Harry turned toward the voice and saw Jeff, his mohawk at full sail, grinning at him. His girl friend was beside him as well, waving furiously.

       “See you tomorrow, Ginny!” She called.

       “You’re coming back?” Julian asked, pulling out his chair. He was at his usual table, right at the back of the room. Mauve and Wrigley were also there, although Wrigley was paging through a very thick folder full of papers and not paying attention. Mauve nudged him and he looked up.

       “Oh, bye everyone! Pepper said to tell you all bye too.”

       “Are you coming back?” Julian repeated.

       “I am, for a bit in the morning,” Ginny nodded. “And Harry, if he’d like.”

       “Yeah, sure,” he laughed.

       “Good,” Julian smiled. “We’ll keep an eye out for you.”

       “Come on, we have to get going,” Bethany called.

       “Bye Nev,” Mauve said, winking at him. “I’ll catch you later.”

       “Yeah, alright,” he nodded, turning a bit pink. Hermione gave him a look that he was decidedly ignoring.

       Just as they were going through the first set of glass doors, Tempest pushed past them without a word and headed to the table as well.

       “Look who it is,” Wrigley said as she sat down. “Haven’t seen you for a few days.”

       “Leave it alone,” Julian sighed, pulling a chair out for his sister.

       “Look, Tempest, just because Nym isn’t here, doesn’t mean–”

       “Leave it, Wrigley! She’s just been…”

       They had moved out of the second set of doors before they learned where Tempest had been. None of the others seemed to have been listening to the exchange; even Ginny had turned around to speak to Hermione and Ron.

       “Harry,” Ron said, grabbing his friend’s robes. “Harry, keep up.”

       “Yeah, sorry,” he said, walking a bit faster. “Hey, how often do you think Nym is away?”

       “What?”

       “Like, for her job. How often do you think she’s away?”

       “I don’t know,” Hermione shrugged. “She works with the minister, though. She’s just sort of on call. You don’t think it would interrupt her class, do you? Do you think she’d have to cancel often?”

       “Even if she did, it’d still be worth it,” Ginny said, grinning excitedly. “I mean, just two days of classes here and I’m more curious than I’ve ever been. And we’d hear from Nymeria Hawthorne, of all people.”

       “Mauve says she’s wicked clever,” Neville said, nodding. “On top of being really powerful.”

       “That’s true.” The group turned their heads to see Draco Malfoy looking at them.

       “Excuse me,” Hermione said, a bit cold. “We weren’t really speaking to you.” Draco scowled at them and turned back to Goyle.

       “Even after everything that happened, he’s still a git,” Ron huffed, rolling his eyes.

       “He’ll always be a git,” Harry laughed.


	17. Applications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and co give their best shot at getting into Nym's class.

       They emerged from the huge stone fireplace and into the Great Hall to a round of applause. Bethany had left them at the gate keeper’s shack, but she might have been pleased to see Hogwarts that night. In honor of the group’s return, and of Blackhearth Academy, the floating candles had been replaced by glowing blue and yellow orbs and the hangings were all done in blue and gold as well. As they all made their ways to their respective tables, they saw that each plate had a slip of paper on it even though the feast was already laid out.

       Up at the staff table, right in her appointed place, was Nymeria Hawthorne. She was speaking to Professor Lovett. Well, Professor Lovett seemed to be doing most of the talking, though she seemed very interested in what he had to say.

       “What’s it like over there?” Someone asked as the Gryffindors sat down.

       “It’s brilliant,” Ginny smiled. “It’s really different though. You’ll be able to see it tomorrow, once they open the floo channel.” The students that had stayed behind began the inevitable barrage of questions, but Harry didn’t join in the conversation. He was staring at Nym.

       She was still speaking to Lovett. Harry hadn’t had him yet, but he’d heard nothing bad about him. He seemed to be an expressive talker, his hands waving in front of his face as if indicating the size of something, and he was smiling and laughing. Nym, on the other hand, was very still except for the small movements it took for her to sip from her goblet and even those were extremely subdued. A small smile slipped across her face once in a while, usually in the same places Lovett would laugh. Even though she was very still and very quiet, she was completely focused on the other professor.

       As he stared at Nym, Harry sifted through everything that he knew about her. She was Voldemort’s granddaughter: this fact was always at the forefront of his mind when he considered her. The man that had plagued him for his entire life had descendants. And not just any descendants, he had the Hawthorne children; he had _Nym_. The reason that she worried Harry more than any of the others—more than Julian or Tempest—was that Nym was more than _just_ his granddaughter. She was _incredibly_ powerful. She’d also been trained in Blackhearth, so now that power was tamed into the steely nerves of a soldier. Nym had been an auror, trained in combat, and she was _deadly_. Now she was here and about to teach a class.

       Harry had a burning urge to learn more about her; it was an all-consuming curiosity. He wanted to know all about the Hawthornes in general, but Nym…stuck. She was the biggest mystery to him. She was part of this “Holy Trinity” at Blackhearth, she was powerful, and the secret descendant of Lord Voldemort. While he knew what she was, Harry had absolutely no idea _who_ she was. So there was the question of her class. Did he want to take it?

       Yes.

       “Harry,” Ginny said, turning to look at him. He’d gotten to his feet. “Harry, where are you going?”

       “I’m going to get an application,” he said, smiling. “For Nym’s class. I want to be the first one.” He turned and walked up to the staff table, head high. He was aware of more than a few pairs of eyes on him. He sauntered up to where Nym and Lovett were sitting and waited until Lovett paused in his story for a drink before he cleared his throat.

       “Oh, Mr. Potter,” Lovett said, putting his goblet down and fixing him with a broad, crinkle-eyed smile. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you in class yet, but it is wonderful to meet you. What can I do for you?”

       “I actually wanted to speak to Professor Hawthorne.”

       At this, Nym shifted her gaze from Lovett to Harry and he suddenly found that he was very unsure of himself. Standing in the spotlight of her blue-green stare, he realized he had no idea how to begin.

       “Er…um…h-hello.” He stammered.

       “Hello.”

       Harry cleared his throat again.

       “She’s startlingly attentive, isn’t she?” Lovett laughed, snapping him out of his frozen state. “It threw me a bit at first, too.”

       “I…ah, yeah,” Harry chuckled, his cheeks very warm. “I just forgot what I wanted to say. I came to get an application for your class.”

       “You did?” Nym replied, flashing a smile. “Excellent.” She leaned down toward a bag at her feet and produced a small packet of paper. “You have exactly one day from now to hand it in. I’ll be here for dinner tomorrow to collect it; I’ll also be here for lunch and breakfast if you finish early. Please take your time, though. Especially on the essay. There’s no length requirement and I won’t bother with spelling or appearances, but the content will play a large role in my consideration. Put some thought into it.”

       “Oh, of course,” Harry nodded, looking at the booklet. He thought it might be rude to stand there in front of her and read it so he just held it firmly in both hands. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll have it for you as soon as I can.”

       “I look forward to hearing what you have to say.”

       Harry nodded and backed away a few steps before hurrying back to his place at the table. As soon as he was seated, the packet was yanked from his hands by Hermione.

       “What does it say?” Ginny asked, craning her neck to see.

       “Oh, lay it down flat!” Harry laughed, pressing it to the table. Anyone close enough to see peered over to have a look.

       It seemed straightforward enough. Across the top of the first page was the class’s official name: **Intermediate Theory Exploration**. Below this was the course description:

       _In this course, students will be asked to research and discuss high level magic and the theories behind it, culminating in the application of said theories via spell work. The class will have four main units: magical origins, bloodlines, wandlore, and spell genesis. Throughout the class, seven spells will be recurring themes: The Summoning Charm, The Patronus Charm, Legilimens/Occlumens, and the three Unforgiveable Curses. The final exam will be an in class presentation._

       From there, the application asked for standard information, like a full name, age, year, and house. As they paged through, they found that it only had five questions. The first four were short answer and the last was an essay; even with all that writing, it didn’t look too terrible.

       “Oh, well that’s actually quite easy,” Hermione said, smiling triumphantly. “Ginny? Want to go get one?”

       “Yes,” she replied, a huge grin on her face. “Yes, yes, and yes. Ron? Neville?” Murmurs like that one passed throughout all of the Gryffindor seventh years and soon all of them were on their feet, shambling to the staff table. It didn’t take long for the other houses to figure out what was happening and soon every seventh year in the building was on their feet, queuing up to get an application. Harry, glad of the few moments alone, read over the questions:

       _1\. How does the traditional dueller’s stance affect the performance of an experienced combatant during a duel?_

       _2\. What effects might the traditional dueller’s stance have on a witch or wizard unaccustomed to magical combat?_

       _3\. How might the spell work differ between a wizard whose wand hand does not match his dominant hand and a wizard with an identical dominant and wand hand?_

       _4\. Which might have a more profound effect on a witch or wizard of unknown parentage: discovering that their parents are purebloods or discovering that they are muggles?_

       _Essay: The Patronus charm is effective in both corporeal and non-corporeal forms. The corporeal form is also unknown to the witch or wizard in question until the time it is successfully cast. What are your theories regarding this information? What is the fundamental difference in casting that decides if a Patronus will be corporeal or non-corporeal? What part of a witch or wizard’s identity decides the shape of his or her Patronus? Note: I am expecting you to guess. (If you are already familiar with Advanced Patronal Theory, please use this space to discuss your reaction.)_

       Hermione might have thought it sounded easy, but after a careful reading, Harry was just a bit unsure. The questions weren’t impossible, but they were certainly complex, and this was only the _application_. He glanced up at Nym, who was positively alight as she handed out the packets, and he smiled. He could handle it, no matter what she threw at him. He pulled a quill out of his pocket and was already working by the time his friends had returned.

       “Getting a head start, then?” Hermione said approvingly. “Good show, Harry.”

       “I just want into that class,” he replied. “I really do.”

       “I know,” Ginny agreed. “I bet it’ll be fantastic.”

       “The description is just so intriguing!” Hermione agreed. “I just can’t imagine how she’ll fit everything in. What do you think, Ron? Ron?” They turned to find that the redhead had followed Harry’s lead and was also scratching out his first reply.

       “Hey lads,” Neville said. “Want to go to the common room and hammer these out? I’m too distracted to eat anyway.”

       “Yeah, let’s go,” Harry grinned. “I want to finish mine tonight.”

       “Well, don’t stay up too late working,” Ginny warned. “We’re going to watch quidditch practice tomorrow, remember?”

       “Oh, right, right. What time do you want to leave for that?”

       “Lisa said they’ll start up at seven. I think we should leave here at six thirty.”

       “Bloody hell,” Ron laughed. “I don’t envy _you_ in the morning. Six thirty on a Saturday?”

       “ _Blackhearth quidditch practice_ , Ronald,” Ginny sneered. “It’s worth it.”

       “You don’t know that. They could be rubbish.”

       “Don’t you have a paper to write? Go on! Scamper up stairs, then.”

       “Aren’t you two coming?” Harry asked, getting to his feet.

       “Well, I’d actually like to eat first,” Hermione laughed. “But we’ll be up soon.”

       Harry, Ron, and Neville all made their way out of the Great Hall. Harry was rather amused because this was the first time he’d ever seen both Hermione and Ron presented with the options to write a paper or eat supper and had _Ron_ pick the paper and _Hermione_ pick the food.

       They were through the portrait hole in just a few moments and the boys dragged three heavy arm chairs around a table in the corner. Once they were situated, they all laid out their papers and set to work. Harry ripped straight through the first question, recalling as many details as he could from the day he spent dueling with Jeff and Rudy. He mentioned the angle of the body, the bent knees, the turned head: he knew he’d answered it perfectly. He stumbled a bit, though, on the second question. He decided to simply paraphrase his previous answer, guessing that having an inexperienced dueller use the proper stance could only help their chances. He was even able to drum up a satisfactory answer to the third question. He decided that wand hand didn’t matter, so long as the witch or wizard felt comfortable. As far as he knew, there was no distinct difference in skill levels between left and right handed wizards. He finished that response with a flourish and went on to question four.

       “Blimey,” Neville sighed. “This is tougher than I thought.”

       “Is it?” Harry said, glancing up. “How far’ve you got?”

       “I’ve just finished two. Three has me stumped though. I don’t know where to begin.”

       “Three? The one about wand hands?” Ron asked. “That tripped me up a bit too. Just start writing, it’ll come to you.”

       “Yeah. I reckon you’re just overthinking it.”

       “Yeah,” Neville said, nodding. He still looked skeptical. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

       They each put their heads back down and resumed writing. Harry found that, as he answered number four, he was thinking of Voldemort. He’d learned he was of both pure blood and muggle lineage, but he’d had the most drastic response to learning he was part muggle. Harry made that his conclusion: finding out one had muggle parents was harder. As he flexed his hand and read over the essay question, someone tapped his shoulder. It was Ginny, Hermione at her side. As the boys had been working, the portrait hole had opened and closed so many times, they’d stopped looking up, so they hadn’t noticed the girls come in.

       “How’s it coming?” Ginny asked, peering at his paper.

       “It’s alright. Did you two start yet?”

       “We worked in the Great Hall,” Hermione replied. “It was wonderfully quiet after everyone left.”

       “Did you finish?”

       “No, we’ve both left our essays for tomorrow.”

       “Me, because I was tired,” Ginny grinned. “And Hermione because her hand cramped so horribly that we had to go to madam Pomfrey.” Hermione rolled her eyes at this, but she was sporting a bandage around her hand. Harry could also see her application in her other hand, full essays in painfully small script crammed into each gap.

       “Are you three finished?” She asked.

       “No, I’ve got the essay left as well,” Harry replied. “I think I might just do it tonight.”

       “Yeah, I thought I’d do the same,” Ron nodded. “Then I’ll just hand it in at breakfast and be done with it.”

       “That’s a good idea.”

       “You can’t, though, Harry,” Ginny said. “We’ll be leaving for Blackhearth before breakfast starts. We’re going to watch their quidditch practice, remember?”

       “Oh, right!” He said brightly. “Well, then I’ll hand it in when we get back.”

       “Perfect,” she smiled, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Don’t stay up too late though. I’ll see you in the morning, I’m off to bed.”

       “Me too,” Hermione smiled, touching Ron’s hand. Just this little interaction was enough to turn the redhead’s cheeks pink. “Night, Harry. Night, Neville.” The two girls left and the boys went back to work.

       Harry’s hand was flying across the page; he was shocked at how much he had to say about patronuses. He checked his watch what felt like minutes later and found that it was well past midnight and his essay was finished. He’d dumped everything he had in his head onto the page. He’d mentioned happy memories, how the memories didn’t have to be _real_ , his own patronus’s form, changing forms based on affection, and how patronuses can be used to send messages. He reread his work and found he’d never been so confident in a written assignment as he was in this one. When he looked at his friends, Ron was fixing spelling errors with his wand and Neville was face down, asleep on his application. Harry nudged him awake.

       “Hwuwh?” He grumbled, sitting up very suddenly.

       “You fell asleep,” Harry laughed.

       “Oh no! Did I drool on it?” Neville snapped up his paper and searched every inch of it. “Oh, thank goodness. Did you finish then, Harry?”

       “Yeah.”

       “Me as well,” Ron said, finally happy with his work. “Shall we go to bed then?”

       “Yeah,” Neville yawned. “I can’t write anything else tonight. I’ll just nod off again.” The trio gathered up all their papers and quills and stumbled up the stairs to their dormitory. All three collapsed into bed without bothering to change out of their robes, though Ron managed to kick off one shoe before he fell asleep.


	18. Quidditch and Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ginny get to watch the Blackhearth quidditch players at work.

       Harry was certain that he’d only just closed his eyes when he felt someone shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes and rubbed the sleep out of them to find that the sun was coming up. Ginny was also in the room, flinging clothes at him from out of his trunk.

       “How’d you get in here?”

       “There’s no spells to keep girls out of the boys’ rooms,” she whispered. “Did you honestly just sleep in your robes last night?”

       “I did,” he admitted. “But I finished my essay.”

       “Good for you,” she laughed. “Now change and meet me in the common room in five minutes. We have to get going. It’s nearly seven; I let you sleep in.”

       “Right,” he said, looking at the outfit she’d picked for him. She left and he swapped out his school robes for jeans, a tee shirt, and a sweater. He grabbed his rucksack—making sure his application was tucked inside—and made his way down to the common room, attempting to smooth his hair.

       “Just leave it,” Ginny laughed as soon as she noticed him. “It’s a lost cause.” He grinned at her and she took one of his hands while they walked to the Great Hall. He quite enjoyed moments like this with Ginny, where they were both just quiet and enjoying one another’s company. He supposed he like them so much because every time he visited the Burrow, they were rather hard to come by.

       The pair was through the fireplace and into a Blackhearth classroom in just a few moments.

       “They’re not going to use the gate keeper’s hut?”

       “Well, it’d be a bit conspicuous for the muggles to constantly see people going in and out of there. Besides, it’ll snow soon. They want us to be spared the elements.”

       “How do you know that?”

       “I don’t,” she laughed. “I’m guessing. Come on, Lisa said she’d meet us in the Main Hall.” They walked out of the classroom and found that the Main Hall was just on the other side of the door. Lisa, her blue hair tied into a messy bun, was yawning in the middle of the room. She seemed to have just woken up as well.

       “You made it!” She said happily, though she was still a bit hoarse from sleep. “Let’s go! The team is already out there. I brought snacks, by the way.” She gestured to a bag at her feet. “Breakfast isn’t for another hour, so we can just eat on the pitch.” They all started toward the back lawn of the school, their footsteps echoing through the otherwise silent hallways.

       “Is it normal to watch quidditch practices like this?” Harry asked.

       “Yeah. Anyone is allowed to if they want,” Lisa replied. “It’s just that it’s so _early_ , so most people don’t. It’s usually just the girlfriends and boyfriends in the stands at the crack of dawn. We’re like a sad, sleepy little club.” They walked halfway to the back of the school before Lisa stopped and slapped a hand to her face.

       “What?” Harry asked. “What is it?”

       “For Pete’s sake, I am so tired I’m not fully functioning. We’re _walking_ ,” she said, laughing. “We are walking. It’s not school hours. I don’t have a class in the Facility. You two aren’t even students.”

       “What does that matter?”

       “We can apparate,” she laughed, taking hold of their robes. With a tug behind their navels and a swooping feeling, Harry and Ginny found themselves standing outside the entrance to the Facility, Lisa still laughing.

       “Oh, man, I am just starting out today strong,” she chuckled, throwing the doors open.

       “Why couldn’t we just apparate straight to the pitch?” Ginny asked.

       “You can’t apparate within the Facility because the noise could startle people in here. But it’s not that long of a walk to the other side of the room.” She led them to the pitch door and this time they did go through the crowd entrance. It was a long walk up the spiral staircases that were common for quidditch pitches; although, these ones were made of beautifully intricate cast iron. When they finally reached the top and emerged into the stands, they all had to shield their eyes for a moment because it was so bright.

       “Thank _god_ it’s normal conditions,” Lisa sighed. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought _Oh, I’ll go watch Jeff practice_ , and then I get out here and they’ve set the dome to hurricane or hail storm or something.”

       “Seriously?” Ginny laughed, taking a seat.

       “More serious than you can imagine.”

       The three turned to watch the team, who were already in the air. They seemed to be sequestered into areas of the pitch based on position. The chasers were on the far left, working their way through an intricate passing drill. The beaters were on the opposite end, smashing bludgers at one another in a sort of star formation. Below these two groups were the seekers, doing speed drills back and forth across the pitch. Finally, down on the grass, were the keepers. They were practicing full body extension by all leaping as far as they could to the right and landing on the ground before hopping back up and repeating the exercise to the left.

       “How long do they do drills?” Harry asked. He found he was making notes in his head for when it was time to run Gryffindor practices.

       “They’ll do things like this for about an hour or so,” Lisa replied, opening her bag and offering them fruit, muffins, and bottles of juice. “Then they’ll scrimmage. Right now, they’ll pit first string against second and just play one game. After everyone has had enough time to get back in shape after summer, they start having position based competitions as a chance to move up in the roster.”

       “Oh, alright,” Harry said, nodding. He figured he could do the same thing back at Hogwarts. They all sat and watched the team cycle through drills. Soon, the different positions started working together. On the north end of the pitch, the keepers took turns blocking quaffles that were launched at them by the beaters. On the opposite end, the seekers were each armed with a quaffle and two chasers had to catch them. After that, the keepers and seekers landed on the grass—the seekers doing sight drills and the keepers passing a greased quaffle to test their grip—and the beaters and chasers took the entire pitch.The drill they were doing was particularly interesting to Harry.

       The beaters were all lined up at the south end of the pitch, each with two chasers. They would fire bludgers as far down the pitch as they could, working on keeping the balls travelling in a straight line. The chasers then had to catch up to the bludgers and hold them under their arm, keeping them under control as they carried them back to the beater. Harry noticed that Jeff’s chasers were having a hard time, as his bludgers tended to go quite a bit farther than any of the others, so they had to carry them for a longer period of time.

       “I can’t believe how quick they all are,” Ginny said, watching with wide eyes. “I mean, those chasers could give our seekers a run for their money.”

       “You’re very quick,” Harry said, peeking at her out of the side of his eye.

       “Not _that_ quick.”

       “I mean, I’m sure you could be, with the right training.”

       “Oh, I’d love that. Could you imagine being able to go _that_ fast and still be so precise and have all that control?” She grinned hugely, watching the team’s progress.

       Just as Lisa had said, after about an hour, the teams divided and got into position for a game. Jeff was on the south end of the pitch. Harry spotted Hank, the large boy he’d met on the first day at Blackhearth, taking up the other beater’s position. Their seeker was circling high overhead, but Harry knew that it was Vanessa, the short haired girl. Their keeper was a tall boy with very dark skin and dreadlocks like Lee Jordan’s. He’d tied them back with a bandana to keep them out of his eyes. Two of their chasers were girls: one with curly blonde hair and the other with a short, black bob. The boy was very broad shouldered, but it didn’t seem to slow him down at all.

       The only person on the second string team that Harry could identify was Rudy, who was hovering over the goal posts. He seemed to play in a very different way from Vanessa because, once the balls were released, she began zooming wildly around the stadium, but he held his position and scanned. Everyone else, though, instantly turned to blurs.

       Harry hadn’t seen quidditch of this caliber since he’d been to the world cup. In fact, he had to actively remind himself that he was watching _students_ play. The quaffle rocketed from chaser to chaser almost as quickly as bludgers ricocheted off of the beaters’ bats. The first string seemed to have a more confident keeper than second and, on multiple occasions, he leapt fully off of his broom to block shots; he never feared that his teammates would fail to catch his broom and throw it back to him before he hit the ground. It was terrifying to watch every time he did it, but he never dropped more than four feet before his mount was back between his knees. He was also able to launch the ball over half the length of the pitch, which was endlessly impressive to Harry.

       Jeff was also fascinating to watch. Harry had never seen beaters work quite the way that he and Hank did; they were every bit in tune as Fred and George had been, but with the minds of generals when it came to strategy. At one point, Jeff hit a bludger straight at Hank, who smashed it back. They continued to pass it back and forth for a few seconds before Jeff called, “STRIKER!” and Hank knocked a second string chaser right off of his broom.

       “That’s called ‘trapping,’” Lisa explained. “Two beaters basically capture a bludger and keep it between them until they need it to guarantee a shot; Jeff and Hank use ‘striker’ as the signal word to say it’s ready to launch. It’s legal, don’t worry; it’s just extremely difficult.”

       “What makes it so hard?” Ginny asked. “Isn’t it just hitting back and forth? You just need good aim, right?”

       “Every time they pass the ball, it gets harder to stop because the bludger doesn’t lose energy when it’s hit. It keeps building it up and going faster. Jeff and Hank can ‘trap’ for about forty five seconds, which is pretty impressive even for professional standards. The second string guys haven’t figured it out yet.”

       _Trapping_ , Harry thought, making a note of the maneuver.

       The quidditch game was moving at a breakneck pace and it felt like only minutes had passed when Rudy shot out of his position. Harry was shocked at his speed. He jettisoned himself toward the opposite goal post and Vanessa was at his hip in less than a second, the two locked in a race. Harry saw the snitch, clear as day, glinting right by the boot of the first string keeper.

       “Do you see it?” Ginny asked, shaking his arm.

       “Yep,” he said, nodding. All at once though, as Vanessa and Rudy closed in on it, the snitch took off and zoomed to the other end of the pitch. The pair of seekers split up, Rudy looping low and Vanessa arching upward. Harry understood immediately that they were gambling. He knew how snitches tended to move: they liked to alternate lateral and vertical movements. The only time they would move twice on the same plane was if they went in short bursts. This last cross had not been a short burst by any standard. If the snitch moved again before the seekers got to it, it would either go up or down; into the hands of one or the other. Rudy and Vanessa had placed their bets, and now it was an all-out race.

       The rest of the players had realized what was happening below them and the fight for the quaffle became downright terrifying as both sides scrambled for what would most likely be their last chance to score. Harry, Ginny, and Lisa had their eyes flashing back and forth between the two scenes.

       Hank and Jeff had trapped a bludger and the other team was torn between waiting until they lost control of it and moving in for the goal. The snitch hadn’t moved and Rudy and Vanessa were closing in. The second string chasers made a break for it and Hank called “STRIKER!”

       Jeff crushed the bludger straight at the chaser with the ball, but didn’t hit her. Instead, he’d managed to expertly knock the quaffle out of her hands and send it back down the pitch at the other team’s goal posts. The first string seeker with the blonde hair had it under her arm in a flash and the others scrambled to keep up. Her two teammates zoomed ahead of her, the broad shouldered boy taking hold of the dark haired girl’s broom. The blonde passed it forward and the other girl gave it an almighty kick, her male teammate fighting to steady her. The keeper stretched out a hand to block it, but the quaffle was too fast and blew right past his arm and soared through the hoop. Immediately after that last goal was scored, Rudy made a grab for the snitch. It tried to avoid him, zooming up toward Vanessa’s outstretched hand. Rudy launched himself forward, completely extending his lanky frame and snatched it away just as her fingers began to close. The whistle sounded and the game was over: second string had won, but just barely.

       Harry, Ginny, and Lisa were on their feet cheering as the players landed. A professor, most likely their coach, gathered them around for a discussion and Lisa began grabbing up all her belongings.

       “Quick,” she said. “Let’s rush the field!” The other two laughed and followed her down the spiral stairs. They sprinted around the outside of the pitch to the team entrance and were back out into the blinding sunlight in minutes. The three of them charged across the pitch toward the players, now dispersing from their huddle. Harry thought Lisa was heading for Jeff, but she swerved and leapt onto Rudy.

       “You were fantastic!” She screamed, squeezing him tightly. “So, so, good!”

       “Thank you,” he laughed, very red in the face.

       “You’re so fast now! Marry me!” Vanessa screamed, leaping onto his back. The two girls took him to the ground as Jeff wandered over, laughing at the spectacle.

       “How was it?” He asked.

       “Brilliant!” Ginny gushed. “Absolutely, bloody brilliant!”

       “It was very good,” Harry laughed. “Really excellent.”

       “Well, I’m glad to hear it. We’re not doing too bad for the start of the season.”

       “Not too bad?” Ginny said, rolling her eyes. “Please, invite me to a game when you lot are on form. I can’t imagine you could do better than that.”

       “You’d be surprised.”

       She grinned at him before jogging over to help Rudy and the girls to their feet.

       “So, Ginny loved it,” Jeff laughed, tossing a sweaty arm around Harry’s shoulders. “You too?”

       “Yes,” he said instantly. “And, speaking of Ginny, does your offer to train one of my players still stand?”

       “Of course.”

       “Her,” Harry said, smiling broadly. “Train Ginny.”

       “You’re sure?”

       “Completely.”

       “Alright,” Jeff said, offering his free hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” Harry shook on it and they walked back out to the Facility.

       “Can we eat now?” Rudy asked. “I’m starving.”

       “Yeah,” Jeff said, checking his watch. “It’s ten thirty. They’ll be serving lunch in half an hour.”

       “It’s already ten thirty,” Harry asked. “What?”

       “It didn’t feel that long, did it?” Lisa laughed.

       “Wait,” Ginny said. “How does that work? How has it still only been three and a half hours? Isn’t there a time difference here?”

       “Not for you,” Jeff said. “That would be Brennan Patel’s doing. He was able to rig a time turner up to the fireplace so we match up. He did it to the gatekeeper’s place too.”

       “You can do that?” Harry gawked.

       “Brennan Patel can,” Rudy shrugged. “He works with stuff like that. He’s a little off kilter after all the time swaps; he thinks he’s thirty four, but he’s still only nineteen.”

       “Everything here is so incredible,” Ginny sighed. “No one like that is at Hogwarts; no one could work a time turner like that.”

       “Want to spend more time here?” Jeff asked.

       “Well, of course,” she laughed. “But what do you mean?”

       “Harry, your coach, has asked me to train you,” he smiled, showing the gap where his tooth used to be. “Would you be interested?”

       “Jeff, you train _professionals_ ,” she said, eyes wide.

       “Don’t you want to be a professional?”

       Ginny stared at him in shock before looking at Harry, almost as if she were asking if it were true. He nodded at her and she let out a very uncharacteristic squeal. “Yes!” She screeched. “Yes, please!”

       “I’m happy to take you on,” Jeff laughed. “What day are try outs, Harry?”

       “I’ve decided we’ll have them this Tuesday.”

       “She’ll be ready,” he said seriously. “Ginny, you better have your butt back here at five ‘o clock tonight. We’re starting today.”

       “Of course,” she said, still grinning. “Thank you. Thank you, too, Harry.”

       The group walked back into Blackhearth, the students splitting up to go to their respective staircase and Harry and Ginny to the fireplace. When they walked back into the Great Hall, students were already trickling in to wait for their meal. Ginny took off for the Gryffindor table to tell them her news. Harry smiled after her and noticed that all of the teachers were already at the staff table, including Nymeria Hawthorne. Suddenly, he remembered the application in his rucksack. He walked to his house table and dropped his bag, taking it out.

       “Alright,” Harry said, grinning at his friends. “I’m going to hand it in.”

       “What?” Hermione asked.

       “My application,” he clarified. “To Nym.”

       “I’ll come with you,” Ron said, producing his own form.

       “Didn’t you hand it in at breakfast?”

       “I slept straight through it,” he sighed. “Let’s go.”

       “Good luck!” Hermione called. The pair made their way up to the staff table where Nym was once again deep in conversation with Professor Lovett.

       “Excuse me,” Harry said, more confident than he’d been the last time he’d made this approach. Nym turned to look at them. “We have our applications for your class.”

       “You do?” She said, a full grin spreading across her face. Her teeth were remarkably straight and white. “I can’t wait to read them over.” She stuck out her hands and took both packets from the boys. She looked at Harry’s first, checking that it was complete.

       “Harry James Potter,” she said. “If you had to choose—and you do, I suppose—what would you say is your favorite spell?”

       “What do you mean?”

       “It’s a tricky question, isn’t it?” She said, snapping his application shut. “What spell is your _favorite_? Which do you love to cast? Which one is the most impressive to you?”

       “Oh, er, well, I suppose… the patronus,” Harry decided. “I quite like seeing the first time someone casts it in full and they see their animal.”

       Nym grinned again. “Which spell has been the most useful?”

       “Disarming.”

       “That’s a very good one,” she smiled. “Remove the threat of attack without injuring your opponent. I stun for the same reason.” She turned her laser-like gaze on Ron.

       “Ronald Bilius Weasley,” she said. “What potion scares you the most? Which one makes you nervous just knowing it exists?”

       “Oh, ah…hmm.” He stared down at his shoes while he thought. After a long moment, he looked up again. “I suppose…love potions. I mean, they’re not _technically_ dangerous; they won’t kill you. But they can make you feel something that isn’t real. They can make you believe it completely; they can just sort of erase what you actually feel. That and anyone can just buy them. They’re everywhere; they’re novelties. But it’s not…it’s not a joke. It’s not funny.”

       Nym stared at him for a long time before a huge smile crept across her face. “I like that answer. I _really_ like that answer. Thank you, both of you. You’ll know my decision soon.” The pair smiled and turned away, just to see Draco coming up to the table.

      As they walked off, Harry heard Nym say, “It’s about time you showed up. Now, Draco Lucius Malfoy, who is your favorite cousin?”

       “Tempest,” he sneered, tossing down his application. Harry thought she might let him get away with that, but she called him back for an actual question, though Harry couldn’t hear what it was. It didn’t really matter though; just the fact that Draco still had to apply and that he still had to answer a question was comforting. Nym was really going to choose students by merit, which meant Harry had an excellent chance of getting in.


	19. The Good With the Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nym picked her class.

      Harry woke up on Sunday morning and a huge grin instantly spread across his face. He turned his head to see if Ron or Neville were awake yet. Ron was dressing and Neville looked like he might be sick.

       “You alright, mate?” Harry asked.

       “Yeah,” the pale boy squeaked. “But we’re going to hear from Nym today. Everyone handed in their papers. She’s sending word _today_.”

       “I _know_ ,” Harry laughed. “How are you feeling Ron?” The red head shrugged and continued buttoning his shirt. Harry ignored him and got up to dress as well. The three boys walked down to the common room together, all taking a deep breath before passing through the portrait hole. When they finally got to the Great Hall, they found it was absolutely packed and buzzing with nervous energy. Everyone was anxiously awaiting Nym’s verdict. Their collective anxiety was not helped by the fact that Nym, herself, was absent.

      Hermione waved the boys over and they all took their seats, struggling to focus long enough to eat breakfast. There was almost no conversation as they ate; nerves were strung too tightly. Everyone was so jittery and impatient that, when McGonagall rose toward the end of the meal, the students fell silent of their own accord without her prompting them to do so. She stared at them for a long moment before she spoke.

       “A number of students have had a change in their schedules. Others will need to officially choose between Divination and Care of Magical Creatures,” she announced. “I will be calling up all students that must make adjustments or have had their classes altered.” She was fighting a smile as she began listing off all of the seventh year students in alphabetical order. Hermione was one of the first called up and when she came back to the table, she set down her still bound schedule, too scared to look. Each student went up one by one and excited squeals were heard from various places throughout the hall. Finally, all of the schedules had been handed out. Harry, Ron, Neville, Ginny, Luna—who had joined their table—and Hermione stared at one another for a moment.

       “On three, do you think?” Luna asked airily.

       “On three,” Ginny agreed. “One. Two. Three.” They all broke their seals in unison.

       “Ah!” Ginny screeched. “I’m in! I got in!”

       “I did too!” Hermione laughed. “Anyone else?”

       “Me!” Neville said, absolutely shocked. “I…I did it. I can’t believe it.”

       “I’ve gotten in as well,” Luna smiled. “Harry? Ron?”

       “I…ah,” Ron said, closing his schedule. “No luck. I didn’t get picked.”

       “Oh no,” Hermione whispered, covering her mouth. “Ron, oh…Ron, I’m so sorry.”

       “It’s fine,” he said, shaking his head. “Harry? What about you?”

       Harry wanted to reply. He desperately wanted to say something, _anything_ , but he couldn’t find any words. He was staring down at his schedule, at the place for Nym’s class. It read:

      Divination/Care of Magical Creatures

       He’d been rejected.

       He sat still, staring at the paper in disbelief. He almost didn’t notice the noise of fire flaring in the fireplace. Everyone looked up to see a silvery blue weimaraner, obviously a patronus, trot to the front of the room. The dog opened its mouth and began to speak.

       “All applicants to the class _Intermediate Theory Exploration_ should have received notice of their acceptance or rejection. If you wish to discuss your results, Nymeria Hawthorne will be holding office hours from 10:00am until 1:00pm in room 236 of Blackhearth Academy. Any student with questions or concerns may feel free to walk in at any point between those times. Have an excellent day.”

       The patronus vanished and suddenly, Harry felt his anger boiling up under his skin. He slammed his schedule down on the table.

       “Harry!” Ginny gasped. “Harry, what’s the matter with you? Didn’t you get in?”

       “No,” he spat. “I didn’t.”

       “What?” Hermione demanded. “How? How is that even possible?”

       “I don’t know,” he said, getting to his feet. “But apparently there will be some convenient office hours for me to find out.”

       “Well, I mean, it’s awful, Harry,” Hermione said, trying to calm him down. “But, you know, you just have to move forward.”

       “Oh, I’m so glad I get to move forward,” he huffed. “Why don’t you put me down for _Hagrid’s_ class and I’ll just prance off into my bright little future, hm?” He turned on his heel and stormed out of the Great Hall. He knew he shouldn’t have been so nasty to Hermione, but he was so angry. It didn’t help that on his way out, he’d caught a glimpse of Draco Malfoy with a smug grin on his face.

       _Malfoy_ had gotten in over him. Harry was fuming as he made his way up to Gryffindor tower. He found he was deeply regretting his choice to have returned to Hogwarts. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to leave for good.


	20. Final Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron investigates some things at Blackhearth.

       Ron went alone to Blackhearth. He, Ginny, and Hermione had been sitting with Luna and Padma out in the courtyard of Hogwarts just before he left. It was strange to spend time with Padma Patil, as she’d previously only known the group through the D.A. and the Yule Ball, which had been an abysmal date for both she and Ron. But she gravitated toward them, as most of her friends from her house had decided not to return to the school. She was fitting in well enough and even becoming accustomed to Luna.

       While the others discussed Nym’s class and compared answers from their applications, Ron sat quietly by, not taking part in the conversation. He was upset that he hadn’t gotten in, but not entirely surprised. Nym had stated very clearly that she was going to speak to their heads of houses about each student’s academic performance. He had hoped, though, that she might overlook his grades in light of his more recent accomplishments. He thought she would certainly have done the same for Harry, who still had yet to return from wherever he’d stormed off to.

       Ron thought he ought to go find him, but he also knew he was in no mood to deal with his friend’s tantrum. Try as he might to find a silver lining, Ron was rather put out about it as well. As he sat on the grass beside his friends, he was trying to fight the jealous twinge he felt growing in his belly. He was frustrated and disappointed and wanted to bring it up, but now wasn’t the time. These also weren’t the proper people; he needed to speak to someone else that hadn’t gotten in, but didn’t want to go to Harry until he’d calmed down. Still, Harry probably _wouldn’t_ calm down until he’d had a good rant. Ron knew he must have quite a few things to say as well, so he stood up and brushed off his trousers.

       “Where are you off to?” Ginny asked, squinting up at him through the sun.

       “I’m going to go see where Harry is,” he replied. “He’s been gone for a while.”

       “Do you want me to come with you?” Hermione asked.

       “No, no, you stay here. You lot seem to have quite a bit to talk about. I’ll see you all later though.” They waved as he walked back into the castle. He was about to start up the grand stair case when he remembered what the patronus had said in the Great Hall: he could speak to Nym directly. He could flat out ask her why he’d not gotten in. He was walking toward the fireplace before he’d fully decided to abandon his attempt to find Harry.

       Because the fireplace only allowed users to move between two destinations—Hogwarts or Blackhearth—Ron didn’t have to say anything when he threw his floo powder down. The green flames simply leapt up obligingly and, suddenly, he was stepping out from under a different mantle. Rather than the gatekeeper’s hut that he’d arrived at in his previous visit, he found himself stepping out into a classroom that had been redecorated with the Hogwarts’ crest and various house hangings. On one wall was hung a massive map of the Hogwarts grounds and on the opposite wall, a map of Blackhearth. He left this room and found himself facing one of the side entrances to the Main Hall. It was empty, as it usually was between meals, except for the High Throne. Ron couldn’t help but feel like the chair was watching him as he crossed the room to the other side.

       The corridors were empty as he passed through them, heading toward the giant stone stair case. It wasn’t unusual, as it was Sunday so the last place the students would want to be was hanging around their classrooms, but it was eerie. The school was incredibly quiet. As Ron neared the stair case, he could hear a few voices. There were students, dressed in street clothes for the weekend, making their way down from their dormitories. Once they spotted him, one of the group members waved.

       “Hello,” the boy called. “Can we help you?”

       “Er…yeah. I’m looking for Nymeria Hawthorne.”

       “She’s on the second floor,” the boy replied. “Room 236. When you get to the landing, go right.”

       “Thanks, mate,” Ron said, starting up the stairs. As he went, he could hear the group whispering to one another. He distinctly heard one say, “You just gave directions to _Ron Weasley_.” He still wasn’t quite used to strangers knowing his name. He followed the boy’s instructions though and soon found himself standing outside the appointed door. There was a little sign on a post that said _Please Wait_. He leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets. A moment later, the door opened and out stepped Gregory Goyle. He seemed surprised to see Ron, but said nothing and simply walked past. As he went, the message on the sign changed to read _Come in_. Ron walked through the door to see that the class room was empty, with the exception of two love seats on opposite sides of a coffee table. Nym was sitting in the loveseat facing the door and was rifling through a pile of papers in her lap.

       “Shall I close the door?” Ron asked.

       “Please,” she replied, looking up. She smiled as he walked toward her and took a seat. “I was hoping you’d come in.”

       “Were you?” He asked. “Why’s that?”

       “I wanted to talk to you about your answers.” She pulled a packet out of the stack and set the others aside. The one in her hands read _Ronald Bilius Weasley_ across the top. “But, of course, this conversation is yours to lead. Please, ask anything you’re wondering about.”

       “Well, obviously, I’m wondering why you said no.”

       “Yes,” she said, nodding. “That seems to be the general pattern for these things. Now, as far your application is concerned, I liked what you had to say.”

       “Really?”

       “Yes. What I wanted to see in these was evidence of creative thinking. I wanted you to guess and then give reason. Admittedly, some of your guesses were very, very wrong.”

       “Oh.”

       “But the thought processes that got you there were sound.”

       “Oh,” he said, a bit brighter this time.

       “The deciding factor for you, though, was my meeting with Professor McGonagall. I know that since she’s headmistress, your head of house is technically Professor Lovett, but he doesn’t know you well enough yet. So I spoke to her and she had nothing but excellent things to say about your character. I have absolutely no doubt that she was telling the truth, maybe even underselling you a bit.”

       “Thank you.”

       “But your academic performance—“

       “Yeah. Yeah, I figured,” he sighed. “My marks haven’t ever been, you know, spectacular. I guess I just hoped that maybe…well…”

       “That last year would have made up for them?”

       “Yeah, I suppose.”

       “Well, that’s the thing: I don’t care about your grades. As far as I’m concernced, the letters your professors write on the top of your work are completely arbitratry. I’m not looking for your ability to memorize and regurgitate, I want you to understand and apply theories, which your responses show that you can do.”

       “So then…why?”

       “Would you say that you have a history of procrastination?”

       Ron couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, I do.”

       “Mhm,” Nym smiled, closing the packet and setting it down. “And how diligent are you about completing readings?”

       “Oh…yeah. Well, I do most of them.”

       “And how much time do you spend on papers?”

       “Just enough to get them done, I suppose.”

       “I know that, with this class, everyone has gotten very excited about the spell work. I mean, there’s a good amount of it and I think you’d excel on those days. But for each week we spend on spell work, we’ll spend two to three on intensive readings and discussions and write ups.”

       “Well, I mean, I don’t _usually_ try as hard as I could,” Ron said, fidgeting. “But for your class, I know I could—“

       “Ron, I’m going to be honest with you. I wanted nothing more than to have you, Harry, and Hermione in my class and to see you three in action. But I had to establish criteria and requirements for acceptance long before the applications went out and I can’t change those just because someone I admire filled one out. I can’t give preferential treatment; it’s not fair to those that met the standards and wanted in.

       “And I have every confidence that you could rise to the occasion of my class, but how much harder would you work in your other classes? If you were going to continue as per usual there, but give full effort in my course, it’d be…wrong. I just can’t be that professor; the one whose students only try for her. It would be an insult to the rest of the staff.”

       “I could make a go of it.”

       “I’m so sorry, Ron, but my decision is final. The class is full.”

       “I…I understand. I really do.” He sighed and stared at his hands for a moment. “But…you really did want me in?”

       “Very much so.”

       “And you think I would have done alright?”

       “Without a doubt.”

       “Okay.” He felt mollified, if nothing else.

       “You are dating Hermione Granger, correct?”

       “Er…yeah. I am.”

       “Hmmm…Well, I can’t put you in the class, you understand that.”

       “Yeah.”

       “But I also can’t control what you do in your free time. This class will be quite difficult and I’m certain Ms. Granger would be happy to have your help in studying. You could look over her notes, discuss lessons, help her practice spells…that sort of thing.”

       “I think I can do that,” he said, smiling.

       “Good. Is there anything else?”

       “No, I don’t think so. Except…but I don’t suppose you can say…”

       “What?”

       “Harry.”

       “Harry,” she sighed, sitting back. “I assume I’m not going to see him today?”

       “What makes you say that?”

       “I’ve heard he wasn’t particularly happy with me this morning.”

       “Oh, well…yeah. And I don’t think he is coming.”

       “It honestly wasn’t my intention to make him hate me right off the bat.”

       “I didn’t figure,” Ron laughed. “Is he a case like me, then?”

       “You in reverse,” she said, pulling out a different packet from the pile. It was Harry’s. “His academic record isn’t perfect, by any means, but he’s gotten good reviews in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, and—a little unexpectedly—Potions. But his answers…”

       “What’s wrong with them?”

       “Technically, I’m not supposed to tell you. But he’s not coming to me and if he’s wondering, I want _someone_ to be able to tell him.”

       “Yeah, alright.”

       “I think he assumed this would be…some sort of…combat lesson? His answers are purely mechanical. He’s got the right idea in that respect, sure, but it’s not what I asked for. I wanted theorizing and speculation. Not just every fact he could think up about patronuses or dueling form.”

       “So his answers were…too right?”

       “His answers weren’t to my questions. His responses are true statements, but not answers.”

       “Oh. I see.”

       “Again, I wish I could have bent the rules for him…I…Well, I couldhave bent the rules; I made them up. But…”

       “It wouldn’t have been fair. I get it. He…he will too, sooner or later. I’ll tell him what you said.”

       “Thank you.”

       “Is that it then?”

       “Yes, unless you have anything else to ask.”

       “No, that’s it. Thank you…thank you for explaining it to me.”

       “Oh, it’s the least I could do. Thank you for coming in.” She stood and Ron followed suit. They shook hands and she saw him to the door.

       It wasn’t quite the meeting he’d been expecting, but he was glad he’d gone. He knew _why_ now, and he thought he knew Nym a bit better too. She was trying to keep things fair for everyone; he figured even Harry couldn’t fault her for that. Or maybe he could; he was rather upset after all. Ron mulled this over as he made his way back to the fireplace. As he passed through the Main Hall, someone entered through the curtained doors and promptly dropped everything they’d been holding.

       “Oh for the love of—Ron?” It was Julian Hawthorne and the ground at his feet was littered with long, thin boxes. Ron went over to help him pick them up again.

       “What are all of these?” He asked.

       “Wand husks,” Julian sighed, stuffing boxes into his robe pockets and filling his shirt like a pouch. “They don’t have any cores yet. That’s my job.”

       “Where did you get all of them?”

       “My Master,” he laughed. “I’m an apprenticed wand maker. Almost finished, too. But before graduation, I have to pay my dues. Coring forty five wands in the next week is apparently a due.”

       “Why don’t you just levitate all of them?”

       “They’re fresh cut wand wood. They won’t react. I’ve got to carry them.”

       “Where are you taking them?”

       “Oh, just up to my room.”

       “I’ll help you,” Ron smiled, his pockets and shirt now also filled.

       “Well, thank you,” Julian grinned. “Thank you very much. What brings you to Blackhearth anyway? Wasn’t the big surge of visitors yesterday?”

       “I came to talk to your sister, actually. I didn’t get into her class.”

       “Oh, that’s too bad. What did she have to say?”

       “Oh, nothing unexpected,” the red head shrugged. “But it was nice to hear it straight from her.”

       “Well I’m glad you found the meeting worthwhile,” Julian sighed. “She’s been doing them for a while now. She hates it.”

       “Really?”

       “Yeah, of course. She didn’t want to turn anyone down, but she had to. She’d rather spend extra time with people who might struggle than just tell them no, they can’t even try. But she only gets one semester for her class. There’s only so much she could do.”

       “Yeah, I suppose so.” They’d reached the stair case and began their climb. “She’s really different from what I expected. I guess everyone here is very different from what I expected though.”

       “Nym’s a good kid,” Julian laughed. “I think most people here are. We just do weird stuff.”

       “Like make wands.”

       “Exactly.”

       “How did you start this, anyway? Why wands?”

       “Why not? I mean, sure, the ministry or something is an obvious choice for work, but I just thought wands were interesting. Why not follow that interest? Why not make the things I’ve been obsessed with for years?”

       “Sounds like a dream.”

       “What about you? Any big plans or passions to follow?”

       “I’ve thought about being an auror.”

       “Not a bad choice for you, all things considered.”

       “Yeah.”

       “Anything else?”

       “I…I’ve never really thought about it, actually.”


	21. Magical Origins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry eaves drops on the most interesting conversations.

       Harry pretended to be asleep while he listened to the other boys rise and dress. He heard Ron and Neville whispering, but he didn’t strain to hear them. It wasn’t until everyone had left and the room was quiet that he threw off his blankets and stood up. He dressed slowly and deliberately, carefully fastening each button and tucking in his shirt. He slid his robe over his head and tucked his wand into his pocket, breathing deeply all the while.

       He’d settled down quite a bit since the previous morning, but he was still rather angry. He’d decided against just abandoning the school year altogether. He at least wanted to speak to Ron and Hermione first, and he hadn’t felt calm enough to speak to them for a number of hours. He thought he might try after the day’s classes. He figured he’d be alright as long as no one brought it up. He took one more deep breath and made his way down to the Great Hall.

       As Harry approached the Gryffindor table, he knew his plan to just not think about Nym’s class was about to be thrown out the window. As his friends noticed him, their faces all became very serious.

       “Hello, Harry,” Hermione said. “How are you feeling?”

       “I’m fine,” he muttered, taking his seat.

       “Are you sure—“

       “Leave it, Herm,” Ron said quickly. “He said he’s fine.” Harry glanced at his friend in silent thanks. He glanced around and noticed that someone was missing.

       “Where’s Ginny?” He asked.

       “Blackhearth,” Hermione replied. “She left really early this morning to work with Jeff.”

       “Oh.”

       “She’ll be back in time for classes.”

       “Good. That’s good.”

       “Harry,” Neville said, “if no one else is going to say it, I will: you should be in that class with us. You and Ron both.”

       “It’s _fine_ , Neville,” Harry said, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t get in and that’s it.” The group all bowed their heads, taking Harry’s cue to stop talking. They all ate in silence while the Great Hall buzzed around them. It wasn’t until McGonagall stood up and released everyone to classes that someone spoke again.

       “Harry,” Hermione said gently, handing him a note. “I turned in your schedule preference for you. Here’s your new one.”

       “Thanks,” He sighed, pocketing the slip of paper. “Ron, are you ready to go to charms?”

       “Yeah, mate,” the red head said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

       “You know,” Harry said, “we officially have matching schedules now. At least there’s that.”

       “What do you mean?”

       “We’ve got Charms, Potions, and Hagrid’s class together.”

       “Oh no,” Hermione said, looking very pale.

       “What’s wrong?” Harry asked. He looked between her and Ron, who both had their faces buried in their palms.

       “ _What_?” He demanded.

       “Harry, I’m so sorry!” Hermione groaned. “I thought…I thought you were being _sarcastic_.”

       “When?”

       “When you said ‘Put me down for Hagrid’s class.’ I thought you were joking.”

       “I…I did too, mate,” Ron sighed.

       “You _didn’t_ put me down for Care of Magical Creatures?” Harry shouted, yanking his schedule out of his pocket. In the final slot for his class list, printed and sealed by the school in red ink, were the words _Divination, Trelawney_.

       “HERMIONE!” He bellowed, crumpling the paper in his fist. “HOW ON EARTH COULD YOU THINK—“

       “Hey!” Ron said, cutting him off. “Don’t yell at her, mate. She just did what she thought you wanted. Now let’s go.” Hermione seemed close to tears as Ron dragged Harry out of the room. They walked into charms and Ron shoved him roughly down.

       “Hey!” Harry said, rubbing the elbow he’d just banged on the desk. “Watch it!”

       “No, _you_ watch it!” Ron huffed. “I know you’re mad, Harry, that’s fine. But don’t take it out on Hermione, alright? She was just trying to help.”

       “Fine, I’m sorry.”

       “You should be.” Ron took his seat and the two boys remained side by side in silence, wearing matching grimaces and crossed arms.

       “You two look positively alight today,” Ginny whispered, sitting down next to them. She still had her hair tied back and was a bit red in the face. “What’s wrong with you?”

       “We’re fine,” they said in unison.

       “Well, good for you,” she laughed, pulling out paper for notes. “My training session was excellent, if either of you care.”

       “That’s good,” Harry muttered. Ginny stared at him for a moment before glancing at her brother and shaking her head in exasperation. “Potions is just going to be a joy,” she muttered. “I can feel it.”

       Ginny’s prediction wasn’t altogether incorrect, though through the course of Charms, Ron and Harry’s animosity did manage to wane a little so they at least sat through their next class in amicable silence. But once Slughorn’s class was over, they finally had to separate ways.

       “Well, ah, you two have fun in…your classes,” Ginny said, trying to hide the excitement in her voice.

       “Yeah,” Ron nodded.

       “Ginny,” Harry sighed. “I…I hope you like Nym’s class. I really hope you do.” She smiled very aide.

       “Thank you, Harry. I hope so too. I have to be off though, so I’ll see you both at lunch.”

       “Yeah, alright.” She walked off and Ron and Harry looked at each other.

       “That was a nice thing to say,” Ron muttered.

       “Well…I mean it, I suppose. I just…I’m still bitter.”

       “Me too, a bit. But, look, I’ve got to get all the way out to Hagrid’s so…”

       “Oh, no, of course, go on,” Harry said, nodding. “Yeah, it’s a long walk.”

       “Yeah.” Ron gave Harry one more apologetic look before walking off with a few of the other seventh year boys. Harry stared at the ground as he made his way to the huge spiral staircase that would let him into Trelawney’s smoky, scarf laden lair. He was still angry, but it was more like dull coals than a flame now. He’d calmed down a bit and realized he was just extremely disappointed. He almost preferred feeling angry, because there was no way he could make disappointment feel like it was someone else’s fault.

       As he neared the stairs, he found himself in the midst of a large number of young girls. He tried to ignore all their tittering and giggles and entered the classroom. As soon as Trelawney saw him, she gasped.

       “Potter! Harry Potter, you should not be here!” Her magnified eyes were especially wide. “I have a message for you from…”

       She took an exceptionally long pause and Harry braced himself for the worst. She had a message for him from where? The _beyond_? The _grim_? An undead _Voldemort_? _Death himself_?

       Trelawney stuffed a hand into the pocket of her robe and produced a small note. “A message from a professor.”

       “Oh,” Harry said, just a bit let down. He took the note and read it.

       Harry Potter has been moved to  
the 11:45am divination class  
at the behest of the professor

       “You’ll be learning from the centaur,” Trelawney sighed.

       “Oh!” Harry repeated, much brighter this time. “Well then, I’ll just be going.” He made his way back down the stair case and began wandering the halls. He now had a free period before lunch. As he wandered, he heard a voice he wasn’t particularly familiar with and walked toward it. He found himself near an open classroom door and inside the room he spotted Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Neville all sitting next to each other. He’d found Nym’s class.

       “Now, we should all be very aware of the fact that this class does not have much time in which to cover all our material. We’ll meet three times a week until your Christmas holiday. After that, we’re done. With that being said, we’re not going to have any sort of…introduction. We’re not going to ease in, we’re just going to start. Now, on your applications, I mentioned we’d cover magical origins. Does anybody know what I’m talking about when I say that?”

       Hermione’s hand shot into the air. Harry still couldn’t see Nym from where he was standing, so he didn’t know if Nym had seen as well. “Draco,” he heard the woman say. “What do you think?”

       “I think you mean where witches and wizards come from.”

       “In what sense?”

       “As in, ancestry. Like discovering the first witch and wizard.”

       “Not quite, but well-reasoned,” Nym replied. “Hermione, I thought I saw a hand.”

       “Well, since you had bloodlines listed next in the course description, I thought maybe you had something broader in mind. I thought you meant we’d look into what makes something or someone magical.”

       “Very, very close. That will be part of it, but that’s sort of…step two. Step one is to figure out what magic is and where it comes from. Can anyone venture a guess for me? What is magic?”

       The class was silent and everyone in the half of the room that Harry could see exchanged glances. No one seemed to know. Harry found that he didn’t really have an answer either. What was magic? It was something that he could do and use, as could everyone else at Hogwarts, but he’d never bothered to ask what it was.

       “Luna, do you have any ideas?”

       “I think magic is…an ability. Some people have it and some people don’t because it’s in your blood, just like how some people have blue eyes and some don’t.”

       “An ability. Alright. Magic is an ability to do…what?”

       “Ah…magic?” She said, now unsure.

       “See, it’s tricky,” Nym said. Harry could hear the smile in her voice and Luna looked more confident. “Keep going, though. Everyone, help Luna. She’s got a start. Magic is an ability.” Harry saw these words appear on the board. “Do we all agree with that?” The room was silent again. “Alright, I’m going to ask some more questions. Don’t answer them, just think about them. Pair them up, rip them apart. Make them make sense in your head and then share what you’re thinking. Is a witch or wizard magical? Is a wand magical? Are potion ingredients magical? Are potions magical? Are dragons magical? What does ‘magical’ mean? Able to _perform_ magic? Possessing _properties_ of magic? _Possessing_ magic? _Producing_ magic? What _is_ magic?” There was a long pause while everyone stared around the room, deep in thought. Finally, Nym spoke again. “Padma?”

       “I don’t think magic is an ability.”

       “You don’t. Why?”

       “Well…I think all those things you listed are magical, but in different ways. I mean, you can say that magic is an _ability_ for a wizard or witch, but it isn’t really an ability for the dragon. But the dragon…well…nevermind…”

       “Don’t stop, keep talking,” Nym encouraged. “I can see it in your face, you’ve got wheels turning.”

       “Well, I mean…a dragon. It can fly, it can breathe fire, it lays eggs, it eats animals; I mean, is it really _magical_?”

       “It’s a _dragon_.”

       “Don’t interrupt, Michael. Padma, keep going.”

       “Well…My mother is a muggle,” she continued. Harry realized he’d never known that about the Patil twins. “And she studies reptiles. I bought her a book on dragons and she studied them in her spare time. She’s found logical reasons that a dragon can fly and breathe fire. I mean, aside from those two things, a dragon is just a big lizard. It does the same things all other lizards do. The only difference is that dragons aren’t cold-blooded in the same sense as other reptiles.”

       “Are we really using muggle logic to discuss a dragon?” Malfoy sneered.

       “Draco, it’s not just muggle logic. It’s logic. Even wizards, if given enough time and motivation, could reach the same conclusions. But you are a pureblood, so have you ever learned any muggle theories?”

       “No.”

       “Do you have an explanation for why, when I throw something into the air, it falls back down to the ground?”

       After a long pause, Malfoy said, “No.”

       “Muggles do. Muggles can also explain why, after an object is a certain distance away from the earth, things no longer fall down. Muggles can mimic that effect on earth. But they have yet to find a way to stop something in midair, with nothing blowing it back up or dangling it. Do you know something that can do that? Do you know something that, if I threw this book in to the air, could keep it there?”

       “Magic.”

       “Exactly,” Nym agreed. “What does that mean? I think Padma was getting to it, so let’s listen. Padma?”

       “Well, a cold-blooded animal doesn’t make heat. We—people—are warm-blooded. Our bodies make heat; we keep ourselves warm. Cold-blooded animals need their environment to produce heat so they can use it. That’s why lizards sun themselves on rocks, so they can soak up the heat. If they get too cold, their bodies can’t function. Dragon’s aren’t like that though, but they’re not really warm-blooded either. My mother’s theory is that it’s because of magic; she calls it the “magic-gene.” Dragons have something in their DNA—“

       “DNA is another muggle discovery. We’ll talk about it later. To say something is in a dragon’s DNA is the same conceptual idea as saying it’s “in its blood.” Continue, Padma.”

       “Right, there’s something in a Dragon’s blood that keeps its body from shutting down in the cold without actually _heating_ the body. But that doesn’t make any sense.”

       “No, it _does_ ,” Nym protested. “Because we have this idea that there is the logical and the illogical. Warm-blooded and cold-blooded animals are logical. Dragons are illogical. Because—and you can tell your mother this, because she’s right—dragons _do_ have magic in their blood and that’s what sets them apart from typical reptiles. But Luna pointed out that some humans are magical and some are not; that could be an ability. That could make magic something that some humans can do and some can’t. The problem is that all dragons are magical, without fail. _All_ wands are magical. _All_ potions are magical. So is magic an ability?”

       “No,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “Magic is…a trait.”

       “A _trait_!” Nym praised. “Very good. Very, very good. Magic is a trait.What else is magic, though? Padma, you were right at the cusp of it. Can you take that last step?”

       “Magic…” Padma began. “Magic…doesn’t…”

       “No, no, I don’t want to know what magic doesn’t do, or can’t do, or isn’t. Give me ‘magic _does_ ,’ ‘magic can,’ ‘magic _is_.’ We’re defining it. Things and people aren’t defined by what they are not or what they can’t do. We speak in positives.”

       “Magic…is…nonsense.”

       “Magic is nonsense,” Nym laughed. “I _love_ that. Magic is nonsense. We’re going to put it slightly different for the purpose of our notes, though, and say that magic is _illogical_.” These words appeared on the board as well. “Magic is an illogical trait.”

       “You left out potion ingredients,” someone said.

       “I’m sorry?”

       “When you were listing off all the things that are always magical, you left out potion ingredients. Are potion ingredients not always magical?”

       “Did everyone hear that?” Nym asked. “Did everyone hear what Veronica just said? Are _potion ingredients not always magical_? Well, you tell me. When a potion calls for water, do you need magical water? Is that water different from the water you drink? Is that water different from the water muggles drink?”

       “…No.”

       “No, it’s not. It’s just water. For something to be magical, not all of its components need to be magical. Has anyone here had experience with the Polyjuice potion?” Hermione’s hand flew into the air.

       “Good, tell me what it does.”

       “It lets you turn into someone else for a while; it makes you look like them.”

       “Exactly, and what is the last ingredient in that potion?”

       “You need the hair of whoever you’d like to turn into.”

       “Is that hair magical?”

       “What?”

       “Is the hair that you put into the potion magical?”

       “Well, wouldn’t it be?” Neville asked. “I mean, it comes from a witch or wizard.”

       “But you can use the same potion to look like a muggle. You can use muggle hair. Muggle or magical hair, it doesn’t change the potency or longevity of the potion. It’s exactly the same. So is hair magical?”

       “No,” Neville replied.

       “No, it’s not. And it doesn’t have to be. Your hair does not have to be magical for _you_ to be magical. Not all the components need to be magical for the whole to be magical. That’s the same principle that explains why not all parts of a dragon can be used for magic. Have you ever heard of someone using dragon’s tongue, dragon’s ear, dragon’s eyeball? Because no one does. Those parts of dragons are just…body parts. They don’t do anything special that other tongues and ears and eyeballs do.

       “And that brings us to the next question: why do only certain things possess the illogical trait of ‘magic.’ What is it that makes them different?”

       “They have…other traits?”

       “Good, Ginny!” Nym said. “Good. They have _other_ traits. Does that mean that magic is attached to other things? Does that mean that magic is not independent? Could you say that an object or person must have trait-x, trait-y, and trait-z in order to have ‘magic’ as a trait?”  
“I don’t know.”

       “Well, let’s talk about it. Open up your text books to page thirteen. We’re going to look at the research done by the wizard Bao Li in ancient China. We are certainly not the first people to be asking questions like these. Unfortunately, Bao Li is often forgotten, because much of what we know—especially in this country and in America—was reviewed by English wizards before being declared important enough to teach students. Bao’s work was so revolutionary and so controversial that not only was it rejected from school lesson plans, he was put to death. It wasn’t until years and years later that his work was revisited and proven to be correct. Bao Li was a _genius_ , and we forgot him because he challenged popular belief and he dared to be Chinese, which is almost a worse crime in the Anglican school system than being revolutionary.”

       “Was his race really _that_ important?”

       “Yes, Draco,” Nym said seriously. “Now, page thirteen. We begin with Bao Li in his family home, welcoming a squib son into his family. Did they know he was a squib when he was born? Of course not. You can’t tell at that age. For most humans, magic is a delayed trait; it can take years to actually be expressed. Now, Bao—oh, I left the door open. Just a moment.” Harry watched the door close from the inside, knowing Nym was behind it and had just pushed it shut. He’d eavesdropped on her class for just seven minutes and he was burning with curiosity. He wanted to have that text book in his hands and to be learning about that ancient Chinese wizard. Instead, he was standing awkwardly in the hall way during his new free period. He continued to walk aimlessly around, think about what he’d heard, until students began pouring out of classrooms again. Then he made his way down to the Great Hall for lunch. When he got there, he found that it was only Ron waiting for him.

       “How was Trelawney’s class?” The red head asked.

       “I didn’t have to go,” Harry smiled. “Firenze requested that I be put in his class, so I don’t have divination until after lunch.”

       “You little troll!” Ron laughed. “Lucky that you got out of that one.”

       “Yeah. I quite liked Firenze’s class. How was Hagrid’s?”

       “Terrifying,” Ron said, shaking his head. “We haven’t had him since Umbridge was here and he went all tame. Well, McGonagall’s let him get right back into the saddle again. Our first day of class, what do you think he brings out? Go on, have a guess.”

       “One of Aragog’s giant spider children?”

       “No, though if he has that in the lesson plan, I might just set myself on fire. He had us all follow him into the forest and introduces us all to Grawp.”

       “He taught about Grawp? Didn’t everyone see him during the battle?”

       “Grawp was not the lesson plan, Harry. Grawp is Hagrid’s new teacher’s assistant.”

       “No!” Harry gasped, bursting into laughter. “His assistant? I don’t doubt that Hagrid could use a hand in that class, but Grawp can’t really be all that helpful.”

       “He isn’t. He just kept picking kids up to get a better look at them. Terrified _everyone_.”

       “What was the animal though?”

       “Oh, right, _that_. Well, now that Hagrid’s been put in touch with that girl Pepper Spicer—which I may never forgive McGonagall for—he’s got a bloody arsenal at Blackhearth that she’s happy to loan out to him. He had bloody _griffins_ on leashes! We had to _walk_ them. Do you know how hard it is to walk a giant thing that can fly? Because it’s very hard.”

       “I’m so sorry,” Harry said, still laughing. “That sounds horrible.”

       “Three times a week, I’ve got to do it. Three. I’d gladly take Frienze’s class over that.”

       “Suddenly, I think I’d like to thank Hermione for messing up my schedule. Where is she, by the way? Where are the others, as well?”

       “I dunno. I went to their classroom to walk here with Hermione, but it sounded like they were still talking. I guess they’re working through lunch.”

       “Their loss, it looks excellent today.” The two boys filled their plates and Ron continued to tell Harry about the horrors of his first day with Hagrid. Harry had been looking forward to his schedule matching Ron’s, but now he was glad of this little difference. It had been quite a while since they’d been able to tell one another stories. Usually, the other was there anyway, so there was no point. Now they had something to talk about. Eventually, though, the meal did end and both boys had to stand up. Harry had to go to Divination and now it was Ron’s turn to have a free period, which he planned to spend sleeping in the dormitory. They parted ways and Harry made his way to class.

       When he opened the door, still on the first floor, he was happy to see that Firenze had left the room done up as a forest. Most of the class had beaten Harry there and were seated in the grass at the centaur’s feet. Harry realized that he was the only male there, aside from his hybrid professor. As he pushed his was through tree branches, the noticed someone waving to him. The room was dark, but he could make out Padma Patil’s face. He picked his way between people on the ground and joined her on a log she’d found.

       “Hey, Harry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know you were in this class.”

       “Yeah, Firenze just moved me out of Trelawney’s class.”

       “No,” she laughed. “I mean I didn’t know you were taking Divination at all. I thought you hated it.”

       “Well, I ah…I didn’t get into that other class so…”

       “Yeah, I was sad not to have you in there with us today.”

       “How was it?”

       “Interesting. Really, really interesting. I mean, we were having such a good discussion that she offered to let us stay through lunch. She had food brought up and we just kept going. It was brilliant.”

       “What did you talk about?”

       “Where magic comes from and what it is. This one wizard in ancient China figured out that magic is a second sort of energy.”

       “What does that mean?”

       “Well, there’s heat; that’s energy. There’s kinetic energy, which is energy you get from momentum. There’s electrical energy. Magic is a type of energy, but only certain things are able to manipulate it. That’s what makes someone or something ‘magical,’ their ability to manipulate magical energy.”

       “But she said magic wasn’t an ability.”

       “How did you know that?”

       “I walked past when the door was open and listened for a bit. I couldn’t help it.”

       “I don’t blame you. But magic isn’t an ability. Ability to use magic makes something _magical_. And humans have to have like, this laundry list of traits to be able to manipulate magic, which is why there are so many more muggles than wizards. If even one of the traits is missing, so is the ability to use magic. And squibs are the opposite of that, because if two people both have all the traits, so should their kids. But a squib has all the traits but can’t manipulate magic. They’re sensitive to it and feel it around them, but they can’t use it. But their ability is dormant and, if they have magical children, they’re usually really powerful. Like, a squib and a pureblood is a recipe for really powerful witches or wizards.”

       “That’s…really cool,” Harry said, now thinking very hard about Nymeria Hawthorne. She certainly proved the rule. He was about to ask if they’d talked about Nym at all, but Firenze called for their attention.

       “Welcome, students. I am pleased to have you here. All of you should have taken at least two years of divination to be here, and so you are familiar with the attempts at prediction. Today, we are going to focus on the state of mind one must be in to predict things. I ask that each of you find a place in the room to lie down and we will learn to meditate.”

       The students dispersed, Harry and Padma laying down near each other, and were told to stare at the artificial stars overhead while Firenze told them stories told to foals in his herd.

       “I hope we have more classes like this,” Padma whispered. “I could just fall asleep.”

       “Me too,” Harry agreed. He’d only just said it before he started dozing. He was comforted to hear Padma snoring gently before he finally did drift off.


	22. Fabian Lovett

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the new Head of House for Gryffindor.

       The previous day hadn’t been nearly as hideous as Harry had imagined it would be. In fact, when he’d gone to sleep that night, he recounted the entire thing and realized that it had been, overall, a rather _good_ day. He’d even found time to apologize to Hermione for blowing up at her about the mix up with Care of Magical Creatures. He was happy enough to be back in Firenze’s class, after all. With his mind uncharacteristically at ease, he fell asleep very quickly that night and, as a result, woke up a bit earlier than usual the following morning.

       He lay awake, enjoying the quiet of the dormitory, the gentle snoring of Ron and Neville, and the weight of his blankets. It was in this lazy stupor that he remembered he’d scheduled quidditch try outs for that afternoon. His team captain was Demelza Robbins. She’d been a chaser with Ginny when Harry had captained the team. She’d done very well then and had apparently impressed the school enough to win the post. Harry had a sneaking feeling that, had she not already been made a prefect, Ginny would have been the captain instead. Still, Demelza would be good to have around and she seemed excited at the prospect of having Harry as a coach. He found he was quite looking forward to working with her as well, though he did have some doubts about who might show up for the try out. While he mulled it over, he heard a crash from down in the common room, followed by a string of muttered curses. Seeing as he wasn’t going to be able to fall back asleep, Harry pulled himself out of bed and went to investigate. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he saw Ginny repairing her quidditch bag which had apparently ripped right open, as all her gear was strewn around the floor.

       “Ginny?” He laughed, going toward her. She looked up and smiled.

       “Hey, Harry. What are you doing up?”

       “Just couldn’t sleep anymore. What about you?”

       “I have to meet Jeff in ten minutes,” she replied, finally happy with her work on her bag. She waved her wand and all of her things leapt back into it.

       “Oh, yeah, how is that going?” Harry asked, now very curious. “Do you think it’s helping you at all?”

       “Oh, yeah,” she nodded enthusiastically. “I’m already better than I’ve ever been. I can’t imagine how good I’ll be by the end of the year.”

       “So you’re ready for try outs, then?”

       “Yeah,” she grinned. “I have a feeling I’ll be making the team. But I’ve got to get going now. I’ll see you later.” She leaned forward and kissed him before dashing off out of the portrait hole. Harry watched her go, red pony tail swishing behind her.

       They hadn’t spent very much time together since returning to Hogwarts. During the summer, he’d barely been able to visit the Burrow since her family had been busy. His visit at the end had left them time for plenty of stolen moments, though. Ginny was too busy again; she was training every spare minute she got. Harry tried to quash the thought that maybe he shouldn’t have recommended her to Jeff after all because he knew how selfish it was.

       He checked his watch and saw that it was only five thirty. Hermione often rose at absurd hours to study, regardless of the fact that the school year had just begun. Harry thought he might spend some time that morning with her and called out experimentally, “Kreacher?”

       The ugly old elf appeared with a crack. “Master Potter?” He asked. “I did not expect…it has been so long, I…”

       “’Hello, Kreacher,” Harry said, smiling. “How was your summer?”

       “Very good, master,” the elf said, brightening a bit. “We cleaned the whole castle. And some foreign wizards and witches came to put the walls back together. We swept up when they were done and made them meals.”

       “You did a very good job. The castle is in top shape.”

       “Thank you, Master Potter.”

       “Can I ask you a favor?”

       “Of course.”

       “Would you bring up some tea and toast for Hermione and I?”

       “Just tea and toast, sir?”

       “Tea and whatever you have to spare for breakfast. I don’t want you to make anything difficult. Bring it at six.”

       “Yes, Master. Of course.” The elf vanished and Harry sat down on a sofa, staring at the ashes where the fires had gone out last night. _Kreacher_ , he thought. _I’m glad he’s happy here._ Harry was struggling with the fact that his first instinct had been to call for Dobby. There was a pang in his chest as he thought about the tiny grave beside Shell Cottage.

       Kreacher had come though, just as surely as Dobby would have. Harry wondered if he could call any elf that worked at Hogwarts. It occurred to him then that he only knew the name of one other elf down in the kitchens, Winky. He wasn’t even certain that Winky was still there. He sat pondering this until he heard a door creak open at the top of the stairs to the girls’ dormitory. Just as he’d guessed, Hermione padded down the stairs in her socks, shoes in one hand to keep her steps quiet, and her arms full of books.

       “Harry!” She said, jolting a bit when she saw him. “What are you doing awake?”

       “Just waiting for you. I saw Ginny off to her early morning practice and thought I’d wait.”

       “Oh, that’s very nice of you. I was just going to study.”

       “What have you got to study? We’ve only just started.”

       “I know, but Professor Hawthorne assigned us a big reading for tomorrow and I’ve only gotten through it once.”

       “You read everything twice?”

       “Three times if I can,” she replied, sitting down and setting her books on the floor. Kreacher appeared then, carrying a tray with tea, toast, scones, fruit, jam, and butter.

       “Oh, thank you,” Hermione said, taking the platter from him.

       “You’re very welcome. Will that be all?”

       “Yes, Kreacher, you can go,” Harry said, giving the elf a nod and a smile before he vanished.

       Hermione buttered a scone and Harry asked her if she knew any of the names of the other elves. “I don’t, actually,” she said, taking a bite. “I’ve never asked. “

       They ate their breakfast in friendly silence while Hermione studied and Harry finally got to look through her text book at Bao Li. Ron woke up around seven and they went down to the Great Hall so he could eat as well. Ginny joined them just as breakfast ended, red-faced and breathless.

       “Blimey,” she wheezed, slinging her leg over the bench and dropping down. “Today was rough.”

       “Yeah?” Ron said, watching his sister steal his fork to stab a sausage off a platter. “What’d you do?”

       “Dives and turns and such,” she replied, waving her hand around. “It was a scary lesson; Jeff was really hard on me about it.”

       Harry didn’t like hearing that, but Hermione spoke up first. “Hard on you? For being scared?”

       “We talked about it when we finished,” Ginny said, leaning against Harry’s arm and resting her head on his shoulder. “He was tougher than usual because he knew I was scared. It helped take my mind off of the dives because I was mad at him. It worked, but my heart is still slowing down.” Harry smiled and kissed her head, deciding to bite his tongue. He didn’t like the idea of Ginny being scared by her practices with Jeff, but at least the man was making sound decisions about her training _and_ he’d let her go early. Because she was back before the end of breakfast, it meant she was able to walk to class with the rest of the Gryffindors.

       On Tuesdays and Thursdays, the day began with History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs and then Transfiguration with the Slytherins just before lunch. The afternoon was composed of Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Ravenclaws and History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs again. Potions, Charms, and an elective were on the off days. Students could pick up additional classes if they were so inclined, but Harry and Ron certainly weren’t. Ginny, on the other hand, had an Herbology class and Hermione had Ancient Runes.

       Really, as a seventh year, one only had to study in the courses one intended to take N.E.W.T.S. for. To be an auror, one only needed six areas: Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and History of Magic. Harry intended to take those classes in both halves of the year; he figured once he was finished with Divination, he would switch to Herbology or Astronomy as his elective. He hadn’t minded those. He wished he could quit History of Magic altogether, but he wasn’t sure what he would put in its place in the coming term. Hagrid’s class seemed completely terrifying and anything Hermione studied was simply out of the question. He figured Padma might have some advice for him and he intended to ask her about it when they arrived at DADA.

       On their way to the classrooms, they passed a few Blackhearth students. When they rounded a corner, they almost ran directly into Julian Hawthorne and Mauve Cleary. The pair had armfuls of brown paper-wrapped parcels and only Hermione was quick enough with her wand to stop them all crashing to the floor.

       “Whew, thank you!” Mauve laughed, collecting her things from where Hermione held them levitating in the air.

       “Not at all,” Hermione beamed. Harry noticed Neville was turning a bit pink around his neck.

       “H-hello, Mauve,” he stammered.

       “Hey, Nev,” she said, giving a quick wink. “Where are you all off to?”

       “Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Ron said, helping Julian arrange things in his arms. “What about you lot?”

       “Professor Sprout had all kinds of things ready to be harvested in the greenhouses,” Mauve replied. “Jules and I stopped by to help her since she said she’d pay us off by letting us take home the extras. We’ve both got about a potions cabinet apiece right now; my haul is for Tempest. I’m never short on ingredients.”

       “Potions?” Ron laughed, turning back to Julian. “I thought you made wands.”

       “I do!” Julian huffed. “I’m very good at it, too. So good that sometimes I forget to stock up on potions ingredients and almost fail a class.”

       “You’re lucky you have me,” Mauve teased. “You and Tempest both. I swear, it takes five big sisters to keep you two alive.”

       “We wouldn’t _die_ ,” the dark haired boy said, rolling his eyes. “We’d just…”

       “Just what, exactly?”

       Julian chewed his lip for a moment as he thought, finally replying, “Honestly, we’d probably end up like Cyan.” Mauve snorted and Harry furrowed his brow.

       “Who’s Cyan?” He asked.

       Still laughing, Mauve explained, “He’s my little brother. He didn’t go to Blackhearth; he ended up at Salem. He’s a, um…a free spirit. Very connected to nature.”

       “So connected, in fact, that he went camping one summer,” Julian continued, a grin plastered on his face. “And forgot to go back to school for his final year.”

       “It happens!” Mauve said, shrugging. “Enough picking on Cy. He’s a gentle daisy, he doesn’t deserve this. Anyway, you all need to get to class.”

       “Do you want to come with us?” Ginny said, clearly excited. “You can sit in.”

       The two Blackhearth students exchanged a look, Mauve raising her eye brows and Julian cocking his head. “I’m outside of curriculum in my next class,” he said. “I could stay.”

       “Technically I’m working but, like, I handle plants,” Mauve replied. “They’re generally alright to be left unattended. I could stay, too.”

       “So you’re coming?” Hermione said, smiling brightly. Mauve and Julian continued to stare at each other, both of their expressions becoming more pained until finally, Mauve groaned and broke eye contact.

       “No,” she sighed. “We’re supposed to make contact with your professors before we show up to your classes. But we know this time is free now! Maybe next week. Who do you have this class with?”

       “Lovett,” Neville said, still pink. “He’s new.”

       “Oh, Fabian!” Julian said, nodding. “That one’s easy. We’ll grab him next time he comes to Blackhearth.”

       Harry’s nose had wrinkled immediately, hearing Julian use Professor Lovett’s first name. “Does he visit often?” he asked.

       “Yeah, he and Nym are friends. He usually spends a little time on our side of the fireplace after dinner on Wednesdays. I’ll clear it with him tomorrow. Now, go,” he laughed, stepping out of their way. “There’s no way you’re not late now.”

       “Hey,” Ron called, walking backward as the group hurried away. “Three o’clock still alright?”

       “Oh!” Julian said, also turned the wrong way round. “Yes! See you then!”

       “Alright, mate!” Ron gave a small wave and turned back, falling into a half-jog with the rest of the posse.

       “What are you doing at three?” Harry asked.

       “Not trying out for the bloody quidditch team again,” the red head laughed. “Since you and Ginny will be busy and Hermione’s going to the library for a bit, I was going to head over to Blackhearth to visit Julian. We’re going swimming in their lake; there’s no squid to drag you under over there.”

       “You’re going too?” Neville asked. Both Neville and Ron were taller than Harry and could have conversations over his head, which he found immensely irritating.

       “Are you swimming as well?” Ron asked.

       “No,” Neville replied, turning from pink to red. “I’m going round to see Mauve. I-I’ll walk with you though.”

       Ginny caught Harry’s eye and waggled her eyebrows, getting him to laugh just as they reached their classroom. They were barely on time and Harry had no time to speak to Padma as they hurried to their seats.

       “You know, I’m not sure why we even have to take this class anymore,” Ron huffed, tossing down his bag. “If we were in Blackhearth, we would be outside of curriculum.”

       “No we wouldn’t. You have to pass your N.E.W.T.S. for that,” Hermione snipped, taking her place between him and Ginny.

       “Oh, you know what I mean.”

       Harry didn’t add anything to the conversation but he agreed with Ron. He couldn’t think of a single reason he still needed to be attending DADA classes. He’d proven himself in the field; what else was he supposed to learn?

       Professor Lovett strode to the front of the room, then, head stooped low over a piece of parchment. The girls still whispered about how handsome they thought the new professor was and, while this reaction reminded Harry of Gilderoy Lockhart, the man before him did not. Fabian Lovett was of average height with a slightly stocky build. His hair was a plain auburn brown and neatly groomed, though his eyebrows were just a bit thicker than average. He had an angular face with a square jaw, always a bit on the stubbly side with a bit of salt and pepper to the hair that grew there. His stormy grey eyes crinkled around the corners behind his green rimmed glasses when he smiled, which was a very frequent occurrence.

       He chose not to wear traditional robes during his classes, instead favoring a wardrobe mostly composed of dark trousers and oversize, cable knit jumpers. Today, his jumper was forest green and a cluster of Ravenclaw girls near the front of the room tittered as he stooped over some papers on his desk, sipped from a mug of tea, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. This was his daily ritual in class: he reviewed his notes while the students settled and then he rolled up his sleeves. Once they were securely cuffed over his elbows, he would look up and greet the class with his usual, “Hello, all. I’m glad to see you’ve arrived safely. Shall we begin?”

       The process never failed to annoy Harry. What was even more irksome was that Professor Lovett had never once needed to shush his class. In just a few short weeks, he’d already trained everyone to quiet down as soon as he touched his shirt sleeves. The first day, everyone had stayed quiet because they were all curious about him. He’d spent that class giving an overview of what they would cover that year and answered some questions and then they were dismissed. The second day, no one had yet had their curiosity quenched, so they stayed quiet again while he began teaching about the differences between hexes and jinxes. By the third class period, the students knew his shirt sleeve rolling pattern and by the fourth, that’s all it took to shut them up. Harry crossed his arms and sank down in his seat, glaring at Hermione and Ginny out of the corner of his eyes. They both had their books out and were staring eagerly forward.

       “Hello all,” Lovett said, standing up straight and setting his hands on his hips. “I’m glad to see you’ve arrived safely. Shall we begin?”

       He walked around to the front of his desk, crossing his ankles, and leaned against it before flicking his wand to close the door. Then he smiled at the whole class. “I want to commend all of you on your work thus far,” he said warmly. “I know that readings and notes can be very dull, but it’s a necessary part of the process. Today, we’ll actually be getting started with some spell work.”

       Harry sat up a little straighter at this announcement.

       “I am willing to bet that none of you will have had a lesson quite like the one we’re going to have today. I’m going to teach you all a very simple, but very important skill: how to take a curse.” Harry’s brow furrowed as the professor folded his arms, still speaking in his warm, even tone.

       “As witches and wizards, I think all of you should expect to be hit with a curse or a nasty hex at some point in your lives, if you haven’t already experienced it. It’s not a pleasant thing, but it’s a very real risk we all face as members of the magical community. As such, it’s important that you all know how to minimize damage when you’re hit with an unfriendly spell. Yes, Luna?”

       The blonde girl had stuck her hand in the air and let it flutter down as she spoke. “We’ve learned some defensive spells, sir,” she said. “Shields and such. Can’t we just block unwanted spells?”

       “Of course,” Lovett nodded. “Of course you can. If you have your wand in your hand and the presence of mind to do so, of course you can protect yourself. But you may not always see an attack coming or you may not have a fast enough reaction time. There are myriad reasons you might not be able to defend yourselves and that’s alright. I’ll teach you the skills you need to take a hit. Quills up for some notes, please.”

       The students took out parchment and inkwells as Professor Lovett began writing on the blackboard. He often chose to write by hand, rather than enchant the piece of chalk.

       “The technique I’ll have you all practice is not necessarily for some of the more remedial hexes, like the jelly legs jinx or a tickling hex, although it can help with those. Generally, those ones are just best to build a tolerance too so they lose potency over time. Instead, we’re talking about more powerful curses, such as a knock-back jinx or a stunning spell. Something that will hit you and hit you _hard_.

       “Now, the first thing you’ll need to do when you get hit is to relax your body. You’ll want to tense up. It’s a natural reaction especially since many curses hurt, but force your muscles to relax. Magic travels slower through taught muscles, so if you let the tension out of your body, the curse will pass through you more quickly.

       “In the event that the curse you’re hit with causes you to fall or throws you back, it’s important that you know how to land. Keep your body relaxed, like we talked about, and it will hurt less when you hit the ground. If you’re thrown across a room, protect vital parts that could be injured on impact. Tuck your head into your chest and cover your neck with your arms, like so.” He demonstrated, curling his upper half down slightly. “This will help ensure that you won’t be knocked unconscious when you land. Draw a diagram of that if you want to.”

       He turned back to the blackboard and sketched an image of someone in the pose he had just demonstrated, continuing to talk over his shoulder. “Don’t bother trying to land on your feet. You are far more likely to injure your knees or ankles than you are to actually land the way you want to. Fall to the ground and roll to a stop.

       “This leads into our last step: if you’re knocked down, stay down. I can’t impress how important this is. Stay where you land and don’t move; keep your body limp and your head covered.”

       Harry’s hand was in the air before he realized he’d moved. Lovett nodded at him.

       “Just stay down?” He asked, more than a little incredulous. “That’s your advice as a professor of _Defense_ Against the Dark Arts? If you’re hit with a curse, don’t actually defend yourself, just lie down?”

       Lovett could have easily reprimanded Harry for forgetting to properly address him as sir, but instead he answered. “In most cases, someone that is willing to hit another person with a spell that will knock them down is looking for an escape route,” he replied, returning to his place against his desk. “They’re looking to incapacitate, not kill, though they may take more drastic measures if they feel they need to. But, usually, their goal is to knock you down or out of the way. Once they do that, if you stay down, they should have no reason to pursue you any further.”

       “So if a dark wizard attacks you and tries to escape, you ought to just let them go?”

       “It is highly inadvisable for any of you to engage another person in combat. You’re more likely to get hurt than anything else. Your own safety should be a priority. If that means letting your attacker get away, then yes, you ought to let them go.”

       “That’s rubbish!” Harry snapped, jumping to his feet. Ginny tried to pull him back down, but he yanked his arm away. “Do you think Aurors are trained to just lay down after they get hit? D’you suppose this is what they teach over at Blackhearth?”

       “Of course not,” Lovett replied, remaining infuriatingly calm. “Aurors and the student soldiers at Blackhearth are trained to pursue and engage a threat. They’re trained very effectively in those skills, but I am not looking at a class room full of aurors, Mr. Potter. That’s not who’s seated around you. _You_ are not an auror and this is not Blackhearth. None of you have been trained how to fight.”

       “That’s not true, sir,” Ginny said instantly. “A lot of us have been trained. A lot of us have actually done it, as well.”

       Lovett turned his gentle, grey eyes on her for a long moment before he nodded, his face solemn. “I know,” he murmured. “I know that many of you had to defend yourselves last year. You were asked to do more than you should have ever had to. But I also know that some of you and your classmates did not fight; some of you ran. Some of you hid. Some of you submitted. It’s important that you all fully understand that every single one of those reactions was valid. You all did what you had to do to keep yourselves safe and, as your professor, that is my number one concern. I want you all safe.

       “Not everyone has it in them to fight, Mr. Potter,” he continued, turning his focus back to Harry. “It is not my job to make you soldiers. My job is to teach you all how to defend yourselves. For some of you, self-defense might mean leading a counter attack; it might mean fleeing to safety; or it might mean falling to the ground and staying there. I don’t know what all of you are comfortable with and I can’t know the situations you’ll be in that might call for some of this training. The best I can do is show you each method and give you the tools to decide which to use.”

       Harry stood there for just a moment longer, stunned into silence, before slowly sinking back into his seat. The class had just barely begun whispering when Professor Lovett called for their attention again. He spent a few more minutes going over notes and then asked the students to rise. He slid the desks to the edges of the room with a flick of his wand and conjured a series of soft floor pads with the following swoosh.

       “Please pair up,” he instructed. “One person stand with their back to the mat, the other person should stand approximately eight feet away with their wand at the ready.”

       The set up for this class was remarkably similar to the Defensive Magic class at Blackhearth, but there was no one monitoring form. Harry and Ron faced one another, neither one able to comfortably curse either Ginny or Hermione. Hermione paired with Neville, Ginny with Luna, and the rest of the class as they pleased. Lovett walked around between the pairs as they cursed one another, seemingly content to ignore all of Harry’s insubordination. He let them curse each other for fifteen minutes, helping students back to their feet, conjuring ice packs when needed, and praising everyone’s ragdoll impressions. Harry was varying his hexes, throwing Ron to the floor over and over again.

       “Are you alright, mate?” Ron asked, getting to his feet after Harry had knocked him onto his mat.

       “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Harry said, squaring up again. The elbow of his wand hand was aching and there was a wicked headache brewing behind his left eye.

       “I mean, sure, but I didn’t…” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I didn’t shout at Lovett in the middle of class.”

       “I just, I don’t know… _Everte Statum_.”

       Ron flew backward and hit the mat, rolling to a stop. “Did I do it right?” He asked, face pressed into the foam.

       “I think so, yeah.”

       “Great. I think I’m done,” he groaned. “Let’s switch, I just…I need to lie here for a bit.” Harry laughed and stepped forward, dropping down to sit beside his friend. They stayed quiet for a moment before Harry realized Ron’s previous question was still hanging unanswered.

       “I got angry,” he sighed. “I didn’t like what Lovett had to say. I mean, I get it now, I just…I’m not sure.”

       “You’ve _been_ angry,” Ron said, rolling onto his side. “I mean, you’re usually—erm—short tempered. But…”

       “But what?”

       “You shouted at Hermione in the Great Hall.”

       Harry nodded, staring hard at his knees. He’d been angry about not getting into Nym’s class, but he hadn’t given any thought to the fact that Ron hadn’t gotten in either.

       “Are you alright about…the class?”

       “I didn’t like going first, but I reckon the bit where I get to curse you should be alright.”

       “No, not this class,” Harry laughed. “Nym’s class.”

       “Oh, right. Erm…I suppose I am now. I got to talk to her about it; she told me why she didn’t pick me. She told me about you too, just so I’d pass it on.”

       “Yeah?”

       “Yeah. I’ll tell you later, Lovett’s looking.” Ron pushed himself onto his hands and knees and Harry went to stand on his own mat. While being repeatedly cursed by his friend wasn’t pleasant, Harry found that his headache was waning now that he wasn’t the spell caster. It was certainly better that Harry and Ron had talked. Usually, they would let things like that linger for a few months at least. Perhaps the last year had taught them to speak a bit sooner. Regardless, they made it to the end of class with a few bruises, but on better terms.

       The class gathered their things as Professor Lovett vanished the mats and returned the desks to their usual arrangement. The students filed out and Lovett told them goodbye. Harry thought he’d be allowed to leave in peace, but just as he threw his bag onto his shoulder, Lovett called after him.

       “Mr. Potter, if you could stay behind for a moment.”

       Harry glanced at his friends as they left. Ginny signaled that they would be just outside the door and he nodded, turning to walk to the Professor’s desk. Lovett gathered his notes into a neat pile and clipped them together. He pulled another packet out of a drawer and began arranging the sheets, preparing for his next class.

       “What did you need, Professor?”

       “I just wanted to see if you’re alright,” Lovett replied, smiling gently at Harry. “You had an outburst in class today.”

       “Oh…yeah…sorry about that…er, sir.” Harry felt a blush creeping up his neck. He’d been publicly shamed by professors before but, somehow, standing in front of Professor Lovett’s kind grey eyes was more humiliating than that. “I was just…we’ve had professors before that didn’t…er…”

       “You’ve had a complicated history with this subject,” Lovett said, nodding his head toward Harry’s scarred hand. “McGonagall walked me through it. I understand your suspicion. I can’t make you believe it just by saying it, but I am _genuinely_ trying to teach this class effectively.”

       “Yeah, I figured that out,” Harry muttered, staring down at his shoes. “You know…at the end of the lecture…” Lovett laughed good naturedly.

       “I saw you catching on, yes. You did very well after that; thank you for participating. But I wonder…is there anything else that I should know about, Mr. Potter?”

       Harry looked up, brow furrowed, to see Lovett staring up at him in earnest. Harry was worried the Professor might be trying to see into his mind and he looked down at the desk and shook his head. Lovett sighed.

       “Very well. You don’t have to share anything with me that you don’t want to. Just know that as your professor and your new head of house, I’m here to help you if you need it.”

       “Oh…er, alright.”

       “I also won’t be taking any points away for your outburst. I would ask, though, that if you feel something similar might happen again that you step outside for a moment and return when you’re calmer. If you disagree with a point in a lesson or have a question, please speak up, but I can’t allow you to shout at me during my class. Is that understood?”

       “Yes, Professor,” Harry said, turning red again.

       “There’s no need to be embarrassed, Mr. Potter. It’s just a correction.”

       “Yes, sir.”

       “Where is your next class?” Lovett asked, taking up a quill and piece of parchment. “I’ve kept you for a while and I don’t want you to get in trouble if you’re tardy on my account. Where are you going?”

       “Oh, er, nowhere,” Harry replied. “I’ve got a break.”

       “Mr. and Miss Weasley? And Miss Granger?” Lovett asked as he scribbled a message. “I assume they’re waiting outside and may need excuses.”

       “Oh, Ron’s off as well, but Ginny has Herbology and Hermione has Arithmancy.”

       “Oh, I’ll just walk Miss Granger there then, but please be sure to give this to Miss Weasley,” Lovett said, smiling and handing Harry the note. He rose and gestured for Harry to walk with him to the door.

       “Thank you, Professor,” Harry said, fiddling with the parchment. “For…er…the note.”

       “Of course,” Lovett replied, setting a gentle hand on the flat of Harry’s back. “And best of luck with try outs today. I’m sure you and Demelza will build us an excellent team.”


End file.
